


Crooked Smiles

by Cibeeeee



Series: Tumblr Prompts & Request [17]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Cuddles, Dates, Dry Humping, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Marriage Proposal, old men wandering, some chapters might have nsfw content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 83
Words: 40,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cibeeeee/pseuds/Cibeeeee
Summary: all the very short mchanzo prompts from tumblr





	1. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I put all the drabbles on Ao3 so it's easier to find.

Hanzo has never brought anyone back to the Shimada castle before. Not when he was young, definitely never thought of it after he left. But McCree wanted to see it, and walking around the lantern-lit streets wasn’t enough. The man had a thing for breaking and entering. Hanzo was all but too pleased to comply. McCree wandered off after they knocked the guards out, leaving Hanzo to clean up.

 

 McCree was tracing his fingers over the carvings across the bell when Hanzo found him. Expression too controlled to be readable, like it always is. Hanzo stepped in next to him.

 

 McCree retracted his arm and wrapped it around Hanzo. His fingers now traced the lines of the brand on Hanzo’s shoulder. A kiss found its way to Hanzo’s temple. Hanzo tilted his face up to greet it.

 

 “Didn’t expect this to hit me as hard as it did,” McCree’s lips didn’t leave Hanzo’s skin, he didn’t want Hanzo to see his face. “Genji used to break out of the base all the time, and I always thought ‘damn, how much did he want to go home?’”

 

 Hanzo let his forehead dropped to McCree’s cheek.

 

 “And then you came, looking for family, but you keep running away, too. Couldn’t help but get the feeling of déjà vu – how much did you want to run away from home? And I know it’s been years since that, but I can’t help but think… or worry that….”

 

 Sometimes, it was easier to read McCree if you didn’t look at his face. McCree’s eyes were trained to deceive, and years of practice often left him unintentionally beguiling. Long time ago Hanzo would get so caught up in trying to figure them out only to end up getting steered away from what McCree was actually thinking.

 

 McCree’s voice, however, Hanzo had spent the last five years listening to understand.

 

 “Jesse,” Hanzo dragged his face away from the comfort of McCree’s warmth. Ran his fingers through McCree’s beard. “I am with you. Always.”

 

 McCree let out a weak, bone-deep sigh through his nose. His eyes shone with soft limpidity. “Thank you, Hanzo.”


	2. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified”

Hanzo’s hand was limp and cold in McCree’s hand. The slight pulse was the only thing keeping McCree from storming out of their hiding behind the wrecked flower stand and launching himself into the enemy.  _Stay put,_  Angela had said a few minutes ago.  _I’m on my way. Stay put, McCree._

 

McCree’s breathing was as weak as Hanzo’s. He squeezed Hanzo’s hand, pressing it against his heart. Childishly hoping that somehow Hanzo’s pulse would resonate with his heartbeat.

 

Hanzo was unconscious and hurt and bloodied but  _alive_  – and that alone made McCree so grateful he could not stop his mouth from opening.

 

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified,” McCree said miserably.

 

A sigh was heard. Mercy crouched down beside them. Her eyes were not on Jesse, but her frown was enough telling that she had heard him. McCree dropped Hanzo’s hand and got up.

 

He did not want to be there when her pity-filled gaze turned upon him


	3. Scary Movie

“I hate horror films.”

 

McCree wrapped an arm around Hanzo when the other man leaned into him. “Like, you’re scared of them?”

 

“No, Jesse. I hate them,” Hanzo said with all seriousness as he would during a mission briefing. “I think they’re boring and sitting through them is the worst form of torture.”

 

Hana groaned loudly from her spot at the front of the TV. “God, you are such a drama queen. Whining won’t make us change the movie, so zip it.”

 

McCree wrapped a velvet blanket around him and a very grumpy Hanzo to keep the chill out. The heating broke, that was why the whole horror movie night started.  _Gotta take advantage of the circumstance,_ Hana said.

 

“There is something else we can do, y’know….” McCree snuggled up to Hanzo, tucking his head under Hanzo’s chin.

 

“Yes, kill me,” Hanzo replied dryly.

 

“Yes, kill him for the love of god,” Hana said.

 

McCree laughed. “How will I make out with you during the scary parts then?”

 

Hanzo grinned, pressing McCree further into the couch. A feral grin along with a nip to McCree’s bottom lip had them both melting against each other. “I think that is a good compensation.”

 


	4. Bonfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy scene in this one

When the bonfire died down to a slow shimmer of amber, only Hanzo and McCree remained next to it. It has been an hour since the others had retreated to their rooms, or so McCree said as he pointed out the position of stars.

 

Neither of them made moves to revive the fire, letting the chill get to them. They wordlessly pressed upon each other, drinking in silence.

 

It had been twelve hours since their first kiss, when Hanzo pulled McCree out of the way of a coming tank and McCree pulled Hanzo into a searing kiss. And it has been two seconds since either of them thought about it.

 

Hanzo got up, because he knew he didn’t have the courage to act on his feelings and McCree made no more advances after the kiss. But as he got up, McCree shot up as well, “Wait –”

 

McCree startled Hanzo by grabbing his shoulders in an iron grip. He looked lost and hesitant, and every bit as scared as Hanzo did.

 

Hanzo scowled. “You,” he grabbed McCree’s waist and yanked him closer. “Are so,” McCree yelped as he fell into Hanzo’s arms, and Hanzo dragged his nails across McCree’s back. “ _Frustrating_.” And he bit McCree’s bottom lip.

 

McCree moaned into the numb pain, and pressed forward. Hanzo pressed back, and they were locked in a back-and-forth vying of getting the other one in their arms.

 

McCree lost the battle when he slammed into a wall, but made up for it when he slid to the ground and dragged Hanzo with him. Hanzo sat between McCree’s legs and forced them apart with his knees. Their kisses were more biting than caressing, but that did not stop them from cradling each other’s face in their palms.

 

Hanzo ground down. A rumbling moan ripped through McCree, and he grabbed Hanzo’s hips to press into himself even further.

 

“God, someone will know about this,” McCree said in-between kisses when Hanzo allowed him to breathe. He stared at the security camera just out of his peripheral. “Everyone will know –”

 

Hanzo replied by sneaking a hand into McCree’s sweatpants and squeezed. McCree shouted, legs twitching and toes curling from the surprise orgasm. Hanzo moaned into McCree’s hair when McCree reciprocated with one palm on the front of Hanzo’s pants and the other hand in his underwear, between his cheeks and teasing the entrance.

 

“Lord,” McCree said. Breathing heavily. He didn’t want to get up, and could just fall asleep like this if the situation allowed. Hanzo slapped his hands away, McCree couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“We are not done,” Hanzo said, dragging McCree to his feet with ease and McCree’s stomach flushed with arousal at that. “ _I_  am not done with you.”

 

McCree let Hanzo pressed him against the wall again, a shaky breath sneaked past his smile. “I’ll follow your lead, sweetheart.”    

 


	5. Apple Bobbing Contest

“Oi, you think you can beat me, mate?”

 

McCree laughed, puffs of lazy smoke trailed out from between his lips. He lifted his chin at Lena, “I know I can.”

 

Mei and Hana “ooo”ed at the pair as they stared each other down. Lena threw her arms up.

 

“All right, let’s go, then.” She blinked to the other side of the party, turned back and shouted, “Hurry up, slowpoke!”

 

McCree snuffed out his cigarillo and got up from his beach chair with a groan. He joined Mei and Hana on the walk across the beach to where the bucket of apple-filled water sat. Lena tapped her foot in the sand impatiently.

 

Hanzo stood by her with a couple other agents, waiting for the next round of battle to begin. He raised an eyebrow at McCree, and got a wink in return.

 

“I heard you were very confident in your bobbing skills,” Hanzo remarked.

 

“You know it, honey,” McCree retorted, and hoped he hadn’t made it too flirty. The crowd let out a collective noise, mixed with wolf whistles and groans.

 

“Ask him out on a date first, jeez,” Genji said. McCree and Hanzo avoided eye contact awkwardly.

 

_Don’t make it obvious_ , McCree told himself, leaning down to the surface of the water with Lena.

 

On Zenyatta’s mark, three, two, one, McCree and Lena dunked their faces into the water, aiming for the little red prizes. From his peripheral he could see Lena’s entire head had submerged in attempts to bite at the bobbling apples. McCree lazily let his teeth graze one of the apples, and watched Lena gasped for wild air.

 

Soon enough, McCree decided he had enough fun, and swung his face up, an apple in his mouth. He raised his arms in the air as the crowd cheered, letting the apple drop from his mouth into his palm and taking a big bite from it, all while keeping eye contact with Lena.

 

“Very mature,” she said, but she was laughing and clapping. McCree gave a cheeky bow.

 

That was when he saw Hanzo, stood in the back, face and neck flushed, and with his eyes trained on McCree. His gaze was ferociously hot, McCree wondered how the water in his beard hadn’t evaporated from the sheer intensity.

 

McCree held the gaze, and took another slow, deliberate bite, with a little lick at the end. Hanzo’s brows draw tight, he knew McCree was teasing. It was how McCree teases him every night – every night through the window, he sneaks into McCree’s waiting arms.

 

But the way Hanzo’s shoulders tensed, and how a sly smirk formed subtly on his face, McCree knew he was going to pay for this tonight. After all – he took another bite – McCree wasn’t the libidinous one in this relationship.      

 


	6. Cry

“Are you crying?”

 

McCree tried to hold back his tears, but the more he tried to, the more his eyes hurt. He tried to hold in all in until his nose also joined in on the almost blinding pain.

 

“Pathetic,” Hanzo said. “It is only onions.”  

 

McCree turned to glare at Hanzo through his hazy red eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you are immune to fucking onions?”

 

“Well, I certainly do not ‘fuck onions’ –” Hanzo got cut off when McCree held up a pile of freshly cut onions right to his face. Hanzo stared at McCree, then to the onions, then back to McCree. He was scowling, and his eyes were rapidly turning red and teary.

 

Hanzo stood, stubbornly, but the fact he refused to open his mouth to retort was enough for McCree to know that Hanzo was full of baloney.

 

When Hanzo’s first tear dropped, McCree doubled over laughing. “I’ll never understand why you try to look tough at  _everything_  – oof!”

 

Hanzo threw a hand towel on McCree’s face and stormed off. McCree put the onions down, grabbed the towel and chased after Hanzo. And just from thinking of Hanzo’s painfully scrunched up face when he was trying not to let tears fall made McCree burst out laughing like a child. At least now he wasn’t crying from the onions.

 


	7. Body Heat

“This is bullshit.”

 

Hanzo sighed. “Jesse….”

 

“No,” McCree snapped. His teeth chattering from the cold, but his face was flushed with anger. “This is fucking baloney. We radioed them two hours ago, did they stop for KFC on the way? Or what?”

 

“Why KFC?” Hanzo asked.

 

“Because KFC is delicious and don’t try to change the subject. I don’t have time for your bullshit now, Shimada.”  

 

“All right,” Hanzo said impatiently. “You’re being apoplectic for petty reasons. Calm down and think straight.”

 

“No, I am thinking straight,” McCree said. “Being angry keeps me warm, don’t you see? And being pissed at you helps even more because I’m stuck here with you.”

 

“ _Jesse_ ,” Hanzo hissed. McCree’s name never sounded more like a curse. “I’m sorry I missed our anniversary, okay? You know I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Yeah, you just have to kill that guy,” McCree threw his arms up. “It just can’t wait  _a day_.”

 

Hanzo rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “You have every right to be angry, Jesse. But we need to get warmed up.”

 

McCree’s retort was silenced when Hanzo started stripping. He looked at Hanzo incredulously. “You’re not going to apologize by fucking me right now, are you?”

 

Despite everything, Hanzo barked out a laugh, and McCree hated how good it still feels whenever he made Hanzo laugh. He was supposed to be angry at him, for Christ’s sake. “Come here,” Hanzo beckoned.

 

McCree shuffled over. The snow was drifting into the small shed they were currently stuck in, and it was making the ground uncomfortably wet. Hanzo lay his coat down on the ground and sat on it.

 

Hanzo peeled off McCree clothes until he was left with a white tank top. McCree huffed when Hanzo crawled between his legs and wrapped his arms around McCree’s torso.

 

“I’m still angry, you know,” McCree said, and draped his coat across their body, and his serape on top. Their body pressed flush together, breathing in sync.

 

Hanzo sighed into the crook of McCree’s neck, “I know. And I’m still sorry.”

 

McCree nosed at Hanzo’s hair until the archer looked up, and McCree captured him in a deep kiss. McCree’s hands roamed across Hanzo’s broad back, and relished in the movement of the muscles under his fingertips. Everything felt warm to his touch.

 

“Good thing you burn me up no matter what, sweetheart,” McCree said into Hanzo’s mouth. Hanzo nipped at McCree’s bottom lip, his fingers scratched at McCree’s chest hairs in loving manner. Hanzo smiled.

 

“Cold is the last thing that will kill us.”

 


	8. Hayride

“It is too hot for this kind of activity,” Hanzo murmured.

 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” McCree said. But what did he know of Hanzo’s suffering? McCree had a hat to protect himself from the sun and a glass of ice tea which the owner of the hayride happily gave him after McCree showed his signature charm. Hanzo glared, but the effect was severely lessened by the amount of sweat drops rolling down his face. McCree chuckled, finishing the last of his ice tea, “Look at how much fun the others are having.”

 

On the other wagons were their teammates. Genji and Zenyatta sat facing together, holding on each other’s hand for support. Hana and Satya on another, chatting animatedly. Some others were too far ahead to see and some too far behind, but none of the others had the same look of misery as Hanzo did.

 

“See, you’re just being difficult,” McCree said.

 

Their driver of the tractor in front called out to them, cutting Hanzo’s riposte off. Hanzo glared and McCree smirked. “Are you two doing okay back there?” She called.

 

McCree called back. “We’re doing mighty fine, ma’am, just peachy.”

 

She gave them the thumbs up and accelerated. The wind picked up, however weak, still welcomed by Hanzo as he pushed his face out. “I am burning.”

 

“You’re funny,” McCree said, his words jittered as the road became uneven and bumpy, jolting their wagon. “It’s not that hot.”

 

Hanzo breathed out. The wagon’s bouncing was staring to hinder their ability to talk normally. “I-” Hanzo tried, but a sudden lunge sent him almost off the ride. He caught himself at the last second, along with McCree’s hand around his wrist, pulling him back.

 

Hanzo tumbled into McCree. Both men crashed into the hay. Hanzo’s arms snapped out, slamming his palms down to stop himself from completely falling on top of McCree, but there was still a brief moment when Hanzo’s face was buried in McCree’s chest. McCree’s eyes were squeezed shut, then he opened one eye to check. After seeing that Hanzo was okay, McCree’s face relaxed and he grinned. “That was close.”

 

Hanzo could feel his face heating up faster than the Utah desert sun ever could. He could still feel the damp heat of McCree’s sweat-soaked shirt, clinging to his face, the smell of fresh sweat, hot and humid and alluring, and the rub of McCree’s hirsute chest, the coarse hair peeking out of his shirt opening. Hanzo’s brain wandered off, far, far into the desert plain of his imagination where he was still buried face-first in McCree’s chest.

 

“Hanzo?” McCree called out tentatively.

 

“That was rough! You two all right?” The driver asked.

 

“I,” McCree replied to her, hesitantly. “I am not sure. Hanzo? You with me?”

 

Hanzo blinked, and looked dazedly up to McCree’s concerned brown eyes. “Ye…yes.”

 

McCree pushed up, and Hanzo left his spot reluctantly. “Thought you bumped your head or something,” McCree said, pulling at his shirt to cool off. Hanzo’s brain short-circuited again.

 

Hanzo tore his gaze away from McCree, and lay his head in his hands. “I’m  _burning_ ,” he groaned.

 

McCree laughed.  

 


	9. Trick or treat (Monster mchanzo)

“If you could only eat one kind of candy for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

 

Hanzo cracked open one eye to give McCree a  _“Are you really asking me this?”_  look, but McCree’s eyes were glued to the TV screen. Hanzo untangled his legs, done with meditation for the night and lay down next to McCree on the bed. McCree dropped his cheek on top of Hanzo’s head as they shuffled and shifted to their usual position.  _The Haunting_  played on the television, and Hanzo wondered if McCree only asked the question to ease his tension as the plot descended to its final conclusion.

 

“Kit Kats,” Hanzo answered.

 

“What flavor?”

 

“Brandy and Orange.”

 

“Hm,” McCree said. “Didn’t know you like that flavor.”

 

“Yes, you do. I’ve told you before and I know you remember.”

 

McCree laughed, defeated. “You ass,” McCree said, and he grabbed a packet from the drawl of his nightstand.

 

Hanzo lazily looked at the chocolate in McCree’s hand. McCree dangled it in front of them. “Trick or treat.”

 

Hanzo turned his face to nose at McCree’s neck, flush and warm. He smiled against McCree’s skin. “I think I rather prefer trick right now.”

 

“Ohhh…darling…” McCree purred. “I think I can think of some way to combine both.”

 

Hanzo smirked, lifted his face and lightly bit McCree’s lips. “Do your best, cowboy.”

 

 

(“Wait, hang on, I want to see how the movie ends!”

“ _No_ ,  _Jesse_.”)

 

 


	10. Trick or Treat (Monster mchanzo ver.2)

“Trick or treat.”

 

The woman at the door stared, dumbfounded, at McCree and Hanzo. The pair stood behind a small crowd of dressed-up children (who looked strangely at them when they first joined in on the quest for candies, but after five houses, the witches and werewolves and Elevens had accepted Hanzo and McCree as one of their own).

 

“I’m sorry,” she asked, lowering her bucket of candies for the kids and eyed the two adults with what could only be described as ambivalent. “Are you two baby-sitting the kids?”

 

“No,” McCree said, his face calm. Embarrassment had been a familiar friend after explaining this reason over twenty times already. “We accidentally set Kitty Vance’s Halloween loot on fire so her mother want us to get it all back.”

 

Sure enough, the woman glanced at the street and saw Ms. Vance stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed and fuming. The woman flinched in sympathy and poured a generous amount of sweets into McCree and Hanzo’s bag.

 

“I wish you luck on this night,” she said before shutting the door.

 

The children, for whatever reason, now saw Hanzo and McCree as one of them. They waited for the two at the bottom of the stairs and chatted with the highest of animated manner to them, pulling them to the next house. Ms. Vance followed behind, eagle-eyed, determined to make sure the pair gave back what they ruined for her daughter. McCree and Hanzo walked shoulder to shoulder, the looks of lugubrious carved into their faces perhaps permanently. 

 

From behind, Ms. Vance began again. “Two grown men!” She said. “Dressed up as Van Helsing and an elf, going around with dangerous props,  _honestly_! Shame!”

 

“We are never hunting a Salamander ever again,” Hanzo said, voice even and carefully devoid of any emotion as they both walked up to the next house with the group of children surrounding them like ducklings.

 

“Agreed,” McCree replied with a grimace, ready himself to face another confused adult.

 

The door opened. A couple greeted them with a big smile that turned into staring strangely at the pair.

 

“Trick or Treat,” they said, a grimaced smile on their face.  

 


	11. Corn Maze

McCree had never had a mission where he would have to pursue an enemy into a corn maze. He could hear Hanzo’s footsteps close behind. They lost sight of the enemy as soon as they entered. Without a word, Hanzo took the right and McCree the left. A routine they always followed

 

It didn’t take long – the target didn’t have much of a head start at the beginning anyway – for McCree to shoot him in the knee and he crumbled with a shout.

 

“All right, shut yer trap,” McCree knocked him out with a punch, and he stood up straight and looked around. Corn everywhere, how was he gonna find Hanzo?

 

McCree contemplated the good-old option of just shouting until Hanzo hears when he heard a shout from the distant maze – right before two great blue dragons came barreling through the maze, coming straight for McCree and burning everything in their way. When the dragons got close enough, they shrunk, their roar became a screech, and crashed into McCree, excitedly dumping their snouts against McCree’s cheeks.

 

The dragons were happily squirming and trying to burrow themselves in McCree’s serape when Hanzo walked up from the newly paved path, the corn still smoking and his tattoo still glowing.

 

“I’m pretty sure there was an easier way of finding me,” McCree said.

 

“I didn’t know if you were in danger or not, and they knew how to find you. It was the most logical thing,” Hanzo replied matter-of-factly, brows arching at his dragons affectionately licking McCree’s nose.

 

Hanzo picked the target up and threw him over a shoulder, started walking out. McCree was kept to the task of entertaining the two rascals, barely keeping them in his arms.

 

“You just wanted to do that,” McCree said. Hanzo turned slightly, flashing an innocent look that suited Hanzo not at all yet pulled off so well somehow.

 

“I just needed to find you,” Hanzo smiled.

 


	12. Hiking

“That’s a big-ass tree,” McCree said. He was still panting slightly from the hike. Even Hanzo was out of breath, the heat and humidity of the small tropical island only add to their breathlessness.

 

“That is indeed,” Hanzo replied, looking up at the tree. Cicadas stridulated from the depth of the forest. Sunlight, from the gaps of leaves, still managed to be lacrimal. McCree wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s shoulder and pulled away immediately – the heat too acute to be close.

 

“Bet you can’t climb this tree,” McCree said. Hanzo regarded him incredulously.

 

“You are joking.”

 

“Nope, convince me, hon.”

 

Two minutes later, Hanzo was looking down at McCree with a deadpanned expression. McCree whistled. He lifted the brim of his hat to show shiny eyes.

 

“Kinda just dared you so I can look at your ass when you climb. It’s really something.”

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes, a smile tucked at the corner of his lips. “I know.”

 


	13. Wine Tasting

“I’m pretty sure we need to savior…savor these…” McCree mumbled, in between the heavy kisses Hanzo were dropping on his lips. It tasted sour, like wine, like grapes, like the heaviness of alcohol.  

 

“We took our time with the first few glasses, if they’re going to give us alcohol, we are not going to waste them,” Hanzo said, sounding far too level-headed after four bottles of wine that Angela sent, asking Hanzo for help. She had heard from Genji that Hanzo has had wine tasting classes during his time in the Shimada Gumi. Hanzo accepted the wines, and asked McCree to join him – he wasn’t going to finish all of them anyway.

 

Hanzo had left his notes aside and found more interesting tasting to do in McCree’s mouth. Both men were buzzed and flushed from the wine.  _These are good wines_ , Hanzo said earlier, right before he pressed up against McCree and slid his hands across McCree’s broad back,  _we should savor it._

They’re savoring it alright. McCree moaned into Hanzo’s mouth as the other man pushed him to the soft carpeted floor of his room. Misty rain splattered against the window. The room was gray and their cheeks were flush. The room was cold and their bodies were warm. McCree caressed Hanzo’s cheekbones. Their empty glasses rolled listlessly away from them. They’re savoring indeed.  


	14. Scarecrow

“It’s kinda cute,” McCree said.

 

“You’re joking,” Hanzo replied.

 

“What, are you scared of it? It’s supposed to scare birds, not people, you know.”

 

“I’m not scared of it. It’s just  _not cute_.”

 

“Yes, it is,” McCree pointed at the scarecrow’s ripped shirt. “Look, it wears its shirt like you. It’s cute.”

 

Hanzo bristled. McCree laughed, and abruptly got cut off when Hanzo snatched his hat off of his head.

 

Ignoring McCree’s protest, Hanzo placed the cowboy hat on the scarecrow.

 

“You happy?” McCree asked when Hanzo walked back to him. “You’re real childish sometimes, y’know. It looks nothing like me.”

 

Hanzo nocked an arrow, draw, aim, and fire – straight through the scarecrow’s left chest. The cowboy hat wobbled slightly as its head slumped slightly, flashing its crooked smile at them.

 

Hanzo smirked at McCree. “Now it does.”

 


	15. "I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth"

It started with their usual argument, where Hanzo was terse and McCree was supercilious, as they always and only to each other. Hanzo bit and McCree snarled, and they always somehow find a way to piss each other off even when both are making a conscious effort not to.

 

It started with their usual argument, and ended up not like anything they had before – McCree grabbed a fistful of Hanzo’s light sweatshirt and shoved him against the wall next to the small space of the storage area. Hanzo pushed his face forward, bearing his teeth.

 

“What’s your problem, Shimada?” McCree said, lowly, threateningly. “Been too long since someone taught you some manners?”

 

“And you think you have that in abundance?” Hanzo laughed. His lips stretched and pulled, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. McCree’s eyes fixed on the movement. Their chests heaving together, bumping.

 

“I think you’re a right piece of work that I don’t have time to deal with,” McCree said, pressing in to glower right in Hanzo’s face. Their cupid’s bows brushing lightly. Hanzo’s eyes trained on McCree’s mouth, his own opening slightly. Hot breath mingled, suffocating them. McCree could so easily move away and Hanzo could shove him back, but neither did.  

 

McCree’s eyes fluttered shut when Hanzo’s mouth touched his. Opened, not pressing, brushing and moving McCree’s lips. He wanted to lick Hanzo’s lips and see if they really felt as smooth as they looked. They panted for no exterior reason.

 

Hanzo’s face shifted, and suddenly it was the soft graze of teeth. McCree was snapped out of his haze. His shirt damp from sweat.

 

Hanzo leaned against the wall, catching his breath, fists shaking. McCree took one final look at Hanzo’s mouth – pink and trembling and begging McCree to taste how it feels – before turning and stride for escape.


	16. "We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to write short for this prompt

“Relax, honeybee, we’re supposed to be married,” McCree nosed at Hanzo’s temple while checking the area for their target. Hanzo’s whole body was stiff as a rod, and he was wholly unresponsive to McCree’s acted flirting. McCree could only imagine the man saw this scouting plan as ridiculous. _Why would he want to pretend to be in love with you?_ A voice in the back of McCree’s head said woefully.  

 

“See her?” McCree whispered, directly into Hanzo’s ear.

 

“Nothing yet,” Hanzo replied, eyes scanning the tourists that lingered at the gate of the cathedral. “But there is a man at three o’clock looking at us.”

 

McCree turned to look. The man squinted, as though he was trying to figure out where he had seen him before. At his waist there the subtle – though not to McCree – shape of a gun.

 

“I think he might know who we really are,” McCree said. Hanzo seized up beside McCree, hand ready to go for the pistol in his jacket. McCree put a warning hand on Hanzo’s.

 

“Don’t fret, honeybun,” McCree said.

“We can’t do our job if there’s someone watching us,” Hanzo said.

 

McCree gazed down at Hanzo, with a pair of sunglasses and leather jacket, Hanzo looked unreasonably attractive and McCree thought if there was only one chance in his life to do what he wanted for a year _then it’s gotta be now_. McCree reached for Hanzo’s sunglasses.

 

Hanzo’s eyes were startled as McCree folded the glasses and placed his palm on Hanzo’s cheekbone, feeling the dampness from being under the sun all afternoon. McCree leaned down, and Hanzo froze.

 

“Is he still looking?” McCree murmured.

 

Hanzo blinked and snapped his eyes to the side. “Yes.”

 

“All right,” McCree said, and pressed his lips to Hanzo’s.

 

Hanzo’s arms came wrapped around McCree’s broad back like he needed support. McCree pressed his body forward. Hanzo’s posture crumbled, hanging onto McCree. McCree’s worried Hanzo’s top lip, dipping his tongue in lightly, then groaned in annoyance and pulled away with an audible pop.

 

“Fuck,” McCree cursed. Hanzo stumbled in McCree’s arms, his face pressed against McCree’s neck, silent. “ _Fuck_ , Angela, are you there? I just saw our target walk out and she’s heading to your position.”

 

“I have eyes on her,” came Angela’s reply from their earpiece. “Head back to the safe house and help Winston with surveillance.”

 

“Copy,” McCree replied. “Hanzo?”

 

“I think that man is still watching us,” Hanzo said, and dragged McCree’s face down, pressing their lips together again.

 

McCree started at the tongue that forced into McCree’s mouth and the arms that trapped McCree in. All the previous reserve gone, Hanzo poured every ounce of his strength into the kiss. McCree couldn’t keep up with Hanzo’s eagerness, ended up just letting him have his way with McCree.

 

Hanzo broke away and fixed his gaze at McCree’s unfocused eyes. “We were pretending to be lovers,” he said, sneaking another kiss that made McCree’s eyes fluttered shut briefly. “But I am not able to pretend to be something I’m not.”

 

Hanzo held McCree’s hands on his chest. McCree felt the rapid beating beneath, and let out a shaky breath. “I am not pretending, McCree, and I need to know if you feel the same.”

 

McCree kissed Hanzo. For the third time but it felt like the first time. Both eager and hanging onto one another like a lifeline. Hanzo’s ponytail was all out of place and mussed up from McCree trying wildly to push onto Hanzo more.

 

They parted with a deep gasp, reluctantly for the less favorable activity such as breathing, before McCree pressed a hard kiss to Hanzo’s cheek, staying there because he needed to tell Hanzo but he can’t seem to take his lips off him.

 

“God, darling, I only hope you feel this as desperately as I do,” McCree’s brows furrowed tightly, trying to will his heartbeat to slow.

 

Hanzo’s mouth found his again. “Believe me, I do."   


	17. "Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again."

Hanzo woke in the medbay, his body aching all over, and Mercy was looking down at him with a disapproved frown like she always did. The window told Hanzo it was raining. The bandages around his head made it hard to hear anything, but the Doctor’s annoyed breathing was clear as day.

 

“I really hope you wouldn’t be so reckless, Mr. Shimada,” she said, writing on her datapad. “If not for you, then for the people around you.”

 

She walked out after that, and Hanzo could only hear the murmurs of two people, before McCree came bursting in. His face tight with anger.

 

Hanzo opened his mouth to talk, but McCree held up a hand.

 

“You inconsiderate asshat,” McCree said. “You had the whole team for backup, but you still decide you can handle a whole squad of mercenaries alone. If it wasn’t for the stupid love that binds me I would just kill you myself.”

 

McCree sat down next to Hanzo, and buried his face in the crook of Hanzo’s neck. Hanzo returned the gesture.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. McCree laughed.

 

“I thought you were going to die,” McCree said, his voice tight with tears held back. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

 

Hanzo’s heart wrenched at the wetness on his shoulder, and for the umpteenth time, reminded himself that someone cares for him, and for the first time in his life, his life meant something to someone. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Hanzo. I love you. I love you….”      


	18. "I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved."

Who thought it was a good idea to leave children to _Hanzo_? No one agreed with that statement more than Hanzo himself. Torbjörn’s kids and grandkids were visiting him on base, then when the family was watching TV in the common room, Torbjörn got called away for an emergency. When Torbjörn rushed out, he asked the only the adult in the room – Hanzo, who was reading – to babysit his kids for him.

 

Even Hanzo knew he was a bad choice for taking care of kids, but Torbjörn was out of sight by the time Hanzo’s protest was out of his mouth. As the TV program ended and the little faces turned to him to provide some new form of entertainment, Hanzo wondered if tactical strategies were something kids would like, he certainly found it interesting when he was their age.

 

But apparently Hanzo was a special kid and that normal children did not find tactical strategies interesting whatsoever. So when McCree sauntered in twenty minutes later, he found Hanzo holding one kid back to stop her from biting her twin while the other four climbed all over him.

 

“I didn’t know Overwatch provided daycare,” McCree chuckled. Hanzo glared with all his frustration at McCree menacingly (he couldn’t glare at the children, now, could he?)

 

“ _Help_ –” Hanzo said, and a girl pulled on his ponytail. “– _Me_.”  

 

McCree laughed even more, and walked with an air about him that demanded everyone’s attention. They stared at him like he promised fun, which McCree looked that he would happily provide.

 

“All right, kids, you all heard of the story of Kobold and Catacombs?”

 

One kid slid down from Hanzo’s shoulder and into his lap, watching McCree. The other kids also stopped their torturing and settled, nestled next to Hanzo. Hanzo stared, wide-eye, at McCree, unsure of what the man wanted to do.

 

To Hanzo’s shock, absolute and utter shock, McCree started _singing_. His voice was soft, and deep, and he sang with a rhythm that caught everyone’s attention. The story was fun, weird, and surprising. Sometimes, McCree dropped his voice to a bombination, rattling Hanzo to his bones in a pleasant way. The children swayed to the tune, and was singing along by the third time.

 

Hanzo was in a daze when McCree finally finished, and the kids abandoned Hanzo in favor of McCree, who let him hang onto his biceps and swung them around.

 

“I’m sure my friend here would love to help you ladies, right?” McCree said, and the twins looked at Hanzo with starry eyes. Hanzo sighed and offered his own arms.

 

Torbjörn came back to his kids napping on the couch, exhausted. But no more exhausted than the two men sitting at the counter each nursing a cup of coffee.

 

“Thank you for looking after my family, Hanzo,” Torbjörn said.

 

“McCree was a big help. He did most of the work,” Hanzo said. McCree smiled at him.

 

“Ah, McCree was always good with kids,” Torbjörn agreed, and went to sit by his sleeping family.

 

Hanzo turned his eyes back to McCree. McCree had his head in his hand, looking at Hanzo. Hanzo took a sip of coffee to hopefully hide his cheeks.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like the way you handle that,” Hanzo said. “It really was something. I am…” Hanzo swallowed a big gulp of coffee. “… Impressed.”

 

“I used to babysit some agents’ kids back in the day,” McCree said. “Have a soft spot for kids, they’re all sweethearts.”

 

“I really can’t share the sentiment,” Hanzo said. “No offense.”

 

McCree laughed, stood, and clapped a hand on Hanzo’s shoulders. “None taken. If you ever need help with the little rascals again, don’t hesitate to call me.”

 

With that, McCree left with his cup of coffee, whistling a sweet tune. Hanzo stared after him.

 

“Mr. Lindholm?”

 

Torbjörn looked up from his datapad from the couches. “Yes?”

 

“If you need someone to look after your children, I am always available.”

 


	19. "Congratulations! One of your dreams has finally come true. Let me give you a big hug and wow, you’re warm…"

When McCree woke up that morning, he expected a storm, because Athena warned them about it. He also expected a good cup of coffee, because Reinhardt always makes them. While McCree was nursing his first cup of coffee by the window watching the storm vying with the sea, something he wasn’t expecting walked through the door.

 

“Good morning,” Hanzo said.

 

“Morning,” McCree said, tearing his gaze away from the rain, and settled his eyes on Hanzo. “How was the missio-”

 

His words stopped dead in his throat. Hanzo poured himself a cup of coffee. The kitchen was dark with the gray dawn, but the studs were still visible.

 

McCree hopped off of the windowsill. “Something looks different,” he said.

 

Hanzo smiled behind the mug. “Is there?”

 

“You bought a new shirt, right?” McCree laughed.

 

“It’s actually Genji’s.”

 

“You look nice,” McCree said earnestly. “What made you get them?”

 

Hanzo paused slightly before his next sip of coffee. “I always wanted them, but my family didn’t allow it. Yesterday, after the mission I saw a piercing shop and….” Hanzo stared at the raging storm outside the window. His voice almost drowned out by the rain. Hanzo looked wishful with the raindrops reflecting on his face, dripping down his cheeks. Hanzo tore his eyes away and back to McCree. “It really does look good on me.”

 

McCree couldn’t help but smile at that. “Congratulation, on making your dream come true,” and without thinking, pulled Hanzo into a one arm hug.

 

Hanzo was unnaturally docile and lax in his arm, letting his cheek rest on McCree’s shoulder and watching the window. McCree pulled him closer, chest full from seeing Hanzo’s face relaxed from feeling like himself, doing things he wanted to do for himself. Hanzo leaned them against the counter. McCree wanted to ask why he hasn’t let go yet, but he felt this was not the moment.

 

And wasn’t Hanzo a nice warmth in a cold, stormy morning like this.

 


	20. "We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way"

When McCree stormed out of the hotel restaurant, the old lady at the next table gave Hanzo a sympathetic look and said, “Fighting with your husband is never fun.”

 

But McCree _wasn’t_ Hanzo’s husband. They weren’t even lovers, and after what Hanzo said, he might as well have thrown their friendship into the pit of the ocean. Hanzo downed his wine and McCree’s bourbon in a heartbeat, and the old woman’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“You must be feeling pretty horrible, best if you go on and talk to him,” she offered. Hanzo looked askance at her, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood up.

 

He wanted to leave, but where would he _go_? They were undercover as a married couple, staying at the same hotel room, with the same credit card, on the same bed, sharing the same last name. Where would Hanzo _go_?

 

If he was still working for himself, perhaps Hanzo would have gone to the bar and drink himself into oblivion. Hanzo thought gloomily as he pressed the button to their room, why did he had to fall in love? Why did he have to turn himself into a participant in a relationship?

 

McCree and his relationship had always been a close friendship – not at first – but it became something so intimate that it scared both of them, or so Hanzo thought. Maybe he was the only one that was scared. His fingers certainly trembled when he gave a knock on their room door before opening it.

 

The lights were on, the television was on too. McCree’s tie and dress shoes were scattered by the doorway. Hanzo shut the door and walked in. McCree was sitting on the couch, facing away. The TV was playing some cartoon Hanzo did not recognized.

 

He sighed. “McCree.”

 

McCree gave a terse reply. “What.”

 

“Can I talk to you?”

 

“I think you’ve made yourself abundantly clear.”

 

“I was not thinking clearly.”

 

“You looked real adamant when you said that we were just pretending to be in love –”

 

“I was clarifying that this mission –”

 

“ – And that we are not the kind of people who would ever be in love, that everything we feel is only circumstantial and not real –”

 

“I –”

 

“ – By that definition, we ain’t even _friends_.”

 

Hanzo was quiet. He had heard what he said in the restaurant and saw the expression on McCree’s face went from soft affection to dark rage with each word. Hanzo didn’t have the voice to stop McCree from leaving the table, his whole body had felt weak and numb, like after a long fight.

 

McCree stretched lazily, turned the TV off and lay down, covering his face with his hat. “I’m going to bed. I’ll just take the couch tonight. Turn the lights off whenever you feel like.”

 

Hanzo stood, in the middle of their hotel room. The bed was still a mess from when McCree threw the pillow at Hanzo because of a teasing fight that ended with both of them ruffled and laughing on the bed. A couple of empty bottles of convenient store sake on the coffee table.

 

Hanzo sighed, braced himself, and wished he had a bottle of strong alcohol with him at that moment before speaking, “I panicked.”

 

The room was silent. McCree seemed to forget that he needed to breathe. He lifted his hat with a finger. “What?”

 

Hanzo gritted his teeth, and repeated, “I panicked. I wasn’t ready to tell you how I – and I just started making snide statements because they were easy for me.”

 

McCree sat up, with an arm hanging off the back of the couch and looking at Hanzo. “You weren’t ready to tell me what?”

 

“McCree….” Hanzo said with a hint of desperate tone. McCree seemed to relish in it.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“That you are a supercilious man who likes to push people too far,” Hanzo deadpanned.

 

“Now, are you answering my question, or describing yourself?” McCree drawled, previous anger all gone. He gestured Hanzo to go on. “I think we’ve established by now you are shit at this. You at least owe me an explanation for causing me heartache.”

 

Hanzo stared at that. McCree gazed back steadily, perfectly aware of what he had said.

 

“Hanzo,” McCree said. “You weren’t ready to tell me what?”

 

McCree’s eyes followed him as Hanzo walked towards the couch. Hanzo crouched, leveling their gaze.

 

“That I am a selfish man, and I want more from us than a pretend marriage. That I value you almost more than anything and that is something I see as daunting, but couldn’t seem to stop.”

 

McCree’s face locked in surprised concentration, as though he was started by every word Hanzo just said. He took off his hat and place it on the table.

 

“Well,” McCree said, and that was when Hanzo noticed the redness on McCree’s cheeks. “I wasn’t,” he laughed, and coughed slightly, “expecting so much.”

 

“I think I am going to get sick,” Hanzo said honestly, feeling quite dizzy after speaking his mind.

 

“I hope it can wait, since I was about to kiss you,” McCree said.

 

Hanzo blinked at McCree just before the man pulled Hanzo over the couch and landed on top of him. Hanzo’s mouth was smothered with heated kiss. Teeth tearing at Hanzo’s lips and tongue smoothing the burn.

 

Hanzo was left panting after, a willing and smiling McCree under him and in his arms. Hanzo chased the smile without thinking, tasting the warmth.

 

“How’s about you take your husband on a first date?” McCree asked between kisses. Hanzo nodded while lowering his face again before realizing he should probably give a verbal response – but McCree quieted him with a generous press of lips.  

                                                                                                                   


	21. Date: Museum

Alte Pinakothek had a spectacular collection of artwork and wonderful way of displaying them. From floor to ceiling paintings in a sublime red ballroom to numerous panels in a maze. Everything caught Hanzo’s interest.

 

But perhaps the most enjoyable part was listening to McCree talk about the art. From Albrecht Dürer to Gerrit van Honthorst, religious artwork to common folk art, McCree knew something about it. Hanzo started at first, but then he thought about it, McCree always has been more cultured than most people he knew.

 

Hanzo relished in McCree’s thoughts, learning what he liked and disliked. McCree preferred art of everyday people, preferred Dutch paintings to Germans, preferred oceans to cities. McCree posed in front of portraits, mimicking the stance, and Hanzo laughed while snapping a picture.

_But_ – perhaps Hanzo’s favorite part of the date was how McCree held onto his hand while they browse the artworks. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking up, up, up to paintings of saints and aristocrats, and laughed together after they both groaned from the ache. Perhaps that was Hanzo’s favorite part instead.

 

But then McCree turned and smiled at Hanzo, without any reason, only because McCree _wanted to_. Then Hanzo thought, maybe McCree’s soft smile was his favorite, after all. Then sighed, Hanzo couldn’t decide which part of the date was his favorite even if someone held a gun to his head.

 

Hanzo almost did not want to step out of the museum by the end of the day. He almost felt like the pleasant bubble would pop as soon as they step out of the gate, and Hanzo really wanted to just be surrounded by angles and saints and noble women and boats and the vast, angry oceans – with McCree holding onto this hand.

 

“So,” McCree said, somewhat sheepishly, “How was that for a first date?”

 

Hanzo pretended to think. “I am not sure,” Hanzo said, but he couldn’t help the teasing tone. “I think tomorrow we should go on a second date to the Neue Pinakothek and see for sure.”

 

McCree laughed, full and deep, warming Hanzo from toe to ear. “And maybe a third date to the Pinakothek der Moderne?”

 

Hanzo hummed, and linked their arms together. McCree opened the gate for him like a gentlemen, dropping a kiss to Hanzo’s temple on their way out.

 

“Where will we go on the fourth date?” McCree asked. The November cold had them pressed against each other as they walked.

 

“I’m sure Germany has other museums to offer,” Hanzo said.

 

“It’s a date, then.” McCree smiled.

 

Hanzo chuckled. This, he decided finally, was his favorite part of the date– the promise of many more to come.  

 


	22. Date: Stargazing

“What is that on your sleeve?” McCree asked.

 

Hanzo stopped, his hand still half way to his lips, about to wipe away the blood. Instead he turned his arm and looked at the slightly green and yellow liquid that clung there.

 

“Brains, most likely,” he replied, and spat out some blood. An assassin had tried to sneak up to Hanzo only to receive a bow to the head, dead before he even hit the ground.

 

McCree sighed. He himself was in a worse shape than Hanzo – grime wise. Blood and soot covered the expensive suit, but otherwise unharmed. The suit may not survive the dry cleaner. That was a shame, McCree looked incredibly handsome in it.

 

McCree sighed again. Hanzo looked curiously over.

 

“You would think the Lord would give us a break and not ruin our date for once,” McCree said, looking up at the night sky. “I think this is the third time someone tried to kill us during dinner.”

 

Hanzo joined him at the edge of the building. The city was engulfed in lights – artificial and natural alike. The Milky Way was so prominent above them, making the voids between stars so much darker, Hanzo could almost convince himself that he sees the remnants of a dead star. Decades ago, Chilean scientists and environmentalist had developed a kind of light bulb that doesn’t interfere with starlight. And locals started a fundraising to equip every household with them. Last morning, when McCree and Hanzo were out buying fruits for breakfast, the street vendor told them that this was the closest place to heaven.

 

McCree sat down with a groan, joints crackling. Hanzo sat down, too, more gracefully. They didn’t mind the blood much, not when they’re both covered with it. McCree never took his gaze off of the stars, and Hanzo never took his gaze off the stars in McCree’s eyes.

 

“I guess we could just sit here and stargaze, right?” McCree said forlornly, obviously thinking about the ruined dinner.

 

The starshines rippled as McCree blinked. Hanzo leaned back and gazed. “I suppose so.”  

 

Hanzo took out his gourd canteen, and McCree his flask. They toasted, drank, and as an afterthought, kissed lightly and languidly.

 

“Damn, that’s some nice sake,” McCree breathed his bourbon lingered breath on Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo chased the aroma, biting it. McCree let himself be pushed to the wall.

 

Eventually they let go of each other, just as breathless as they were when they finished the fight. McCree smiled, just barely visible in the soft starlight and the void between starlight. Hanzo smiled too, though only after McCree turned his eyes back to the sky.

 

Here they sat, bloodied and tired, but nonetheless more content than they ever had been in their life, drinking underneath the canopy, at the closest place to heaven.    

 


	23. Date: Botanical Garden

It was an afternoon outing during their off time. They passed a beautifully decorated white gate. Flowers coordinated from colors with veins intertwined. McCree and Hanzo passed it. It was free of charge, and McCree had looked so intrigued.

 

“Why don’t we go in?” Hanzo said, not really interested in gardens, if he was honest with himself. His father used to build gardens all around their estate, and a lot of them held memories that Hanzo would rather forget. But it did not bother him so much that a pleasant walk with McCree was out of the question.

 

The botanical garden started with an archway of trees and vines. Only little sunlight managed to get through the leaves, coloring their skins with tiny dots of sun.

 

“I did not know you have freckles,” Hanzo said, noticing the spots only because the sun was practically pointing it out to him.

 

McCree flashed a huge grin at him. The sun spots shifted, dotting the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes. “Yeah, hardly anyone ever notices them.”

 

Hanzo nodded, still very much distracted. McCree was talking about where they got them (too much sun during his gang days), and how his hair almost turn blond at one point. Hanzo listened, keeping eye contact with McCree, not caring much for the rustles of leaves, the stridulation of bugs, or the rushing of water –

 

And with that last note of his surroundings, Hanzo tripped and on moss and head straight for the pond. McCree, bless him, grabbed Hanzo in time, only to be dragged in with Hanzo from the force.

 

They sat up, sputtering. Fishes splashed around them, tails slapping them as though complaining for the disturbance. People passing by, figured that drowning was not a risk for two grown men in a shallow pond, therefore did not offer any help aside from some gasps and chuckles.

 

McCree looked at Hanzo in surprise. Hanzo knew exactly why. Because why would a world-class assassin be so careless as to fall into a pond? Hanzo did not have the courage to point out that McCree was the source of his lapse in mind.

 

In the end, Hanzo offered an innocent, “Whoops.”

 

McCree’s eyebrows shot up, and fell in a moment of stunned silence. Then he threw his head back and laughed, brighter than the sun.


	24. Date: Botanical Garden (2)

The Gibraltar base came with a garden – not at first. But there was a spare space just by the cliff with just enough sunlight and healthy amount of winds, and they had Bastion. Put two together, it wasn’t long before a small garden appeared and Winston very happily gave Bastion the permission to do whatever he wanted with it.

 

And he did. In a short few weeks, it became such a beautiful small getaway almost every agent used it. After a few years, after everyone added a little something of their own in it, they now have a glass botanical garden at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the ocean.

 

It was the silence (save for the sounds of waves) that made it a popular retreat, especially for agents that meditate. Everyone had the courtesy to stay silent there, because more often than not, there was someone mediating.

 

This dawn, the garden was occupied by an archer and a gunslinger, though any outsider wouldn’t be able to tell. Both dressed in casual shirts and pants, they sat side by side, crossed-leg, knees brushing.

 

McCree had extended an invitation to “hang out” more, and Hanzo said he was welcome to join him for his morning meditation and perhaps a breakfast after. Meditation was never something McCree enjoyed, always too jittery, mind-wandering.

 

Now was no different, McCree tried his best to clear his mind, but he couldn’t even close his eyes. Hanzo was crowned with purple wisterias, brows furrowed and tight. McCree couldn’t tell if he was actually enjoying meditation or not, but he sure as hell looked damn pretty like that.

 

Hanzo cracked an eye and looked askance at McCree. Caught, McCree felt there was no point of hiding, and gave a smile.    

 

Hanzo closed his eyes again, now also smiling. “Cannot concentrate?”

 

The sun is peeking pinkly through the horizon, covering everything in a rosy hue. McCree stared at the way Hanzo’s skin tinted with pink and purple, murmured, “I don’t rightly think I can.”

 

Hanzo extended a hand, placing it palm up on McCree’s knee. After a moment of hesitation, McCree took it. Hanzo squeezed it lightly.

 

“I will guide you through it. Just listen to my voice,” Hanzo said, facing the sun.

 

McCree turned toward the glass, the ocean, the sun, and the reflection of Hanzo and him. He took a deep breath, and squeezed Hanzo’s hand back.     

 


	25. Date: Scavenger Hunt

Hana Song was frightening enough on any normal day, even more so when her little baby girl cousin came to visit her and wanted to play scavenger hunt with Hana and the “big dragon man.”

 

Refusal was half-way out of his mouth when Hana turned sharply, and out of her cousin’s view, glared menacingly at Hanzo. Bared her teeth and widened her eyes, she mouthed “Do it.”

 

And so Hanzo was given a list of things to find. He had no intention to win, wanting to just let the kid win and also not interested in actually hunting the items down.

 

He wandered into the kitchen, looking for a spatula half-heartedly, instead he found McCree sits at the kitchen island, reading with a cup of coffee at hand.

 

McCree put down the cup when Hanzo came in. Hanzo nodded politely at him. McCree scowled.

 

“There’s no one here,” he said, and grabbed Hanzo by the waist. “You blew our date off, care to give me a reason?”

 

Hanzo sighed, looking back at the doorway making sure no one was near. “Hana wanted me to play with her and her cousin.”

 

“Play what?”

 

“Scavenger hunt.”

 

McCree spared a glance at the list. “I guess you didn’t come in here for me, then.”

 

Hanzo’s chest wrenched at that. He should have refused Hana. He wanted to refuse –

 

“I did, actually. You can give me one thing I need,” Hanzo said. McCree arched a brow. Hanzo smiled, leaning into McCree’s body. “A kiss.”

 

McCree laughed. “You’re just messing with me.”

 

Hanzo wasn’t, or maybe he was – it was a way for him to kiss McCree. McCree hummed pleasantly into it, chewing softly on Hanzo’s lips.

When they broke away, McCree didn’t look as dismayed as he did before. Although Hanzo did not feel any better. He still had to go back on the hunt even though he just wanted to stay with McCree.

 

When Hanzo got to the doorway, McCree called.

 

“Hey hunter,” McCree winked, and dropped his voice so that every syllable rocked Hanzo to his very core. “After you’re done, come back here and I’ll give you a prize.”

 

Hanzo choked on air when McCree made a lewd gesture with his tongue, and left with renewed determination to end this hunt quickly – even if it meant beating a child at the game.


	26. Date: Spa Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fia on twitter drew art for this chapter and it's GORGEOUS!!!! https://twitter.com/fias_overart/status/940414984756105217

“A private spa, good drink, good company, a nice view…” McCree looked over to where Hanzo was still rinsing himself off. His muscular backside on full display for McCree’s viewing pleasure. McCree leaned his head on his fist and watched. “…A _nice view_.”

 

Hanzo turned just enough to see McCree watching him, and smirked, tying his hair up, flexing his muscles on purpose. McCree hummed in appreciation.

 

“Come here, darling,” McCree said, almost breathlessly. He blamed it on the steam suffocating him, but Hanzo’s face told him that he knew exactly what got McCree so dazed.

 

Hanzo sat down by the edge of the stone-paved hot tub, overlooking the snowy mountains. He poured two small cups of sake, bringing one to McCree’s lips.

 

McCree took a sip, eyes never leaving Hanzo. Then he dropped his lips to Hanzo’s thighs, halfway in the hot water, trailing kisses upward, until he met Hanzo’s cock, placid and inviting. McCree mouthed at it, couldn’t leave it even if he wanted to.

 

Hanzo sighed, one hand gripping McCree’s hair. The cold air was raising goosebumps all over his skin, but McCree was rapidly smoothing the problem. Hanzo lazily swirled his feet around in the water, watching McCree with an even lazier relaxed smile.

 

“Good company,” he agreed.     


	27. Date: Fair/ Carnival

“Ohhhh,” McCree threw his head back and laughed. “You think you can beat me?” 

 

“That is not what I said,” Hanzo replied. “I only remarked on the fact that toy guns and real guns are different, and you may not be good at shooting games.” 

 

“All I hear is an insult to my skills, this isn’t how you treat all your dates, right?”

 

Hanzo smirked, paid the vendor, and hand McCree the BB gun. “You are special.” 

 

McCree grinned, twirling the gun, effectively scaring the vendor. He didn’t care. He made sure there were no kids around, anyway. “What would you like, babydoll? A plushie? A candy apple? Name it and I’ll win it.”

 

Hanzo humphed. “Cocky.” Then, more quietly, “Candy apple.”

 

McCree tipped his hat and faced the targets. “One sweet for the handsome gentleman.”

 

This is fun, McCree thought as the first plastic bullet struck the target, dead center. Show off! He heard himself reprimanding, but Hanzo was watching, and McCree couldn’t help it. He hadn’t been on a date in a long time. He hadn’t flirted in a long time. McCree shot the next two moving target in a blink of an eye, he could see Hanzo shifts in his peripheral. Smiling to himself, McCree hadn’t had fun in a long time. 

 

Ten targets down in ten seconds. The vendor gave him a glossy red candy apple. McCree took off his hat, pressed it to his chest, and gave the prize to Hanzo.

 

“Cute,” Hanzo said, meaning it literally, but hoping it would come across as mocking because he didn’t want McCree to know how flustered he felt. 

 

But the way McCree put his hat back and smiled, Hanzo knew he was unsuccessful.  

  
  
  



	28. Date: Skiing/Snowboarding

The snow-covered mountain was a sight to behold on its own, but the sun decided to grace its appearance today, so everything sparkled. It was nearly Christmas, this seemed like a rare gift and an opportunity to enjoy snowy sports, if only they could stay on the ground.

 

“Are you all right?” Hanzo asked beside him, their snowboards bumping together as their legs hung off the chairlift. “I thought you would be fine with heights.”

 

McCree took a deep breath before he opened his mouth. Even if he was gripping the bars and know logically everything was safe – it still took a herculean effort to now have his voice tremble.

 

“I need my feet planted safely on the ground, thank you very much,” McCree answered. “How long till the top? Still can’t see shit.”

 

“We can just get off here.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Jump off and start skiing here,” Hanzo said with the steady tone as if he was asking if McCree wanted tea or coffee.

 

“You’re shitting me.”

 

“I assure you I am not, just follow me.”

 

McCree didn’t follow – he gripped the side with all his might when Hanzo lifted the bars in front of them and hopped off, like it was _nothing_.

 

“Hanzo –!”

 

Hanzo landed gracefully with the board firmly on the snow and started gliding downhill. He waved at McCree to follow. McCree flipped him off.

 

He hurriedly pulled the bar back down and gripped it. Without Hanzo, the seat felt so much bigger and prone to just breaking and crashing. McCree’s whole body tensed up, wishing the mountain wasn’t this damn high.

 

Eventually, the lift got to the stop. And eventually, McCree made his way to the bottom. When he turn the last bend of the tack to the end, Hanzo was already there waiting for him.

 

McCree slid to a stop in front of Hanzo. He was a good skier, he just doesn’t like the getting around part. Hanzo smiled teasingly at him, an eyebrow arched.

 

“Shut up,” McCree said. “Who the fuck jumps off? You were just trying to give me a heart attack.”

 

Hanzo reached over and brushed some of the snow off of McCree’s hat and beard. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to McCree’s red nose.

 

“I apologize,” he said. “How about I buy you a cup of hot cocoa?”

 

McCree smiled. “And just make out in the coffee shop and not get on any lift?”

 

Hanzo laughed, taking McCree’s hand to help him get his gear off. “Whatever you want, Jesse.”

 

 


	29. Date: Cruise

“Smell the ocean, sweetheart, it’s all we’re gonna be smelling for the next week.”

 

Hanzo sniffed. “It smells like fish.”

 

“Fish lives in oceans.”

 

“Thank you. I did not know that.”

 

McCree chuckled. “This is my first time being on a cruise. I’m excited.”

 

Hanzo looked over at McCree, who was looking at the cruise pamphlet with an ebullient wonderment. McCree wore his hair in a ponytail today, with comfortable slacks that had no right making McCree’s ass look so enticing in public and a thin shirt that showed the curls of chest hair underneath, Hanzo lingered over that part appreciatively. But the smile on McCree’s face was the most gorgeous of all, Hanzo allowed himself to put aside his self-doubt for a moment. McCree liked the gift, if anything, that was all that matters to Hanzo.

 

A group of dogs rushed passed them. Their owners and cruise staffs chased close behind. Both McCree and Hanzo stared after the barking animals with longing eyes.

 

“I think you chose this cruise because it allowed pets on board, right?” McCree teased.

 

Hanzo shrugged. “Maybe. Also it has a 24 hour open bar for first-class suites.”

 

McCree’s eyebrows shot up, and he grinned widely at the promise of alcohol. “We’re going to be wasted. What if someone recognizes us?”

 

“We’ll be on international water where they can’t do anything.”

 

McCree laughed fondly at Hanzo’s tone. “I like this plan.”

 

The line moved slowly. McCree entertained himself by reading over the offered activities on board. Hanzo already knew them all, having picked the perfect cruise carefully. He will let McCree decide what they do on this trip.

 

Beside one thing – which Hanzo hadn’t told McCree yet. It wasn’t anything big, just a five star restaurant reservation with McCree’s favorite whiskey and a little velvet box containing a very normal silver ring that was only symbolic because gods know they can’t actually get married –

 

“Hanzo?” McCree nudged him. “Our tickets.”

 

Hanzo blinked and recover from his rant ( _not panic_ ) smoothly, and gave the staff their tickets.

 

“First-class is this way to the left,” she said. They could feel the murmur and looks as they took the empty path that led to the expensive suites. Hanzo relished in it. _Feels like home to be haughty._

Their room was spacious and faced the open sea. A card on the table told them the date and time this room will pass a part of the ocean that can see whales, which excited McCree so much so he set a reminder on his phone.

 

“I should have snuck into cruises instead of trains,” McCree remarked as he flopped down to the soft bed.

 

“Don’t get your shoes on the bed,” Hanzo said. McCree kicked his boots off and rolled to his stomach, flipping open the pamphlet again. Hanzo checked the time. Five hours until their reservation. He needed to do something to calm his nerves, and looking at McCree, there is _one thing_ that does just that….

 

Hanzo rested one knee on the mattress next to McCree, one hand sliding up the curve of McCree’s ass and kneading. His mouth moved to the back of McCree’s neck, dropping kisses.

 

McCree responded immediately. His body melted against Hanzo’s touch, curling and twisting when Hanzo’s hand reached to the front and undid his belt, sliding a hand in.

 

“Jesus,” McCree murmured in low surprise, and the rest of his words turned into a moan when Hanzo’s fingers dipped into his mouth, pressing on McCree’s tongue.

 

“I want you to lay back, and let me handle you, is that acceptable?”

 

McCree would have screamed yes – if he had the breath to do so.

 

Two hours later, after the ship left its dock and the ocean sailed past them slowly. Two men sat at the open window in their room, sharing a cigarette, letting the smoke drift to the quickly darken sky. Three hours until their dinner. Hanzo couldn’t take his eyes off McCree. The lines on his face and softness of his body. The pinky that curled against Hanzo’s own pinky. His toes that nudged gently at Hanzo. Why would he waste time to look at the stars when he had McCree with him –

 

And McCree turned to gaze back at Hanzo, too. He smiled. A smile with words that wanted to be said behind it.

 

After a long drag, McCree said, “Seven years, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s really something.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Never thought we would last this long, if I’m honest.”

 

“How long did you think we’ll last?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know…maybe a year?”

 

“That long? I thought you would end it by the third month.”

 

“Please.”

 

“I am only speaking from past relationship experience.”

 

McCree snuffed out the smoke, and wrapped the quilt around his bare shoulders. If they were absolutely quiet, they could hear the sound of the ship pushing past waves. And if they were even stiller than that, they could almost entertain the idea that the small, wispy-like noise was the sound of clouds passing the stars, or the fishes swimming below the ship, or the thoughts passing in their heads. They couldn’t confirm any of those silly ideas, not when they were still stuck by the sudden astonishment that this was, for the first time in their life, a person they thought they could trust their hearts to.

 

“A miracle, huh?” McCree said at last, leaning into Hanzo bonelessly, suddenly weak to the very core.

 

“Yes,” Hanzo received the weight effortlessly. Suddenly the little velvet box with the very normal ring didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Hanzo dropped his cheek to McCree’s crown. Ocean breezes ruffled their hair. What’s so scary about a ring, when they already decided quietly to themselves – _I want to stay with him_.           

 


	30. Date: Paint Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short of related to the last date prompt where Hanzo and McCree goes on a cruise. That's why they can go to classes and stuff.
> 
> Also - someone drew fanart for the spa date prompt!!! and it's **so** beautiful!!! I can't stress how much I love it I've been looking at it for days. [Hanzo has got a hella a good butt in it!! ](https://twitter.com/fias_overart/status/940414984756105217)
> 
> I think this is also a good time to thank everyone who leave kudos and comments and honestly, just reading this! Thank you!

“Will you stop that?”

 

McCree looked up from his attempt at squeezing the last of the paint out of its tube, “What?”

 

“The sound is disgusting.”

 

“It’s not my fault they didn’t give me a full tube of paint.”

 

Hanzo grumbled irritably. McCree retaliated by making more noise.

 

“I wanted to go to the yoga class,” McCree said cheerfully. “But you wanted to do something else, and this is the only activity on board with slots still open.”

 

Hanzo struggled at painting the apples before them. McCree looked over and he squinted his eyes.

 

“I thought you said you don’t paint?” McCree asked.

 

“I don’t.”  

 

“Then why are you painting the best looking apples I have ever seen in my life?”

 

Hanzo furrowed his brows, unsure if McCree was mocking him or not. He could see at least twenty flaws in his painting, but the compliment still made his mood perked up like a peacock. He preened slightly.

 

“I guess someone is just good at everything,” he said.

 

McCree was silent. Hanzo wondered how his fiancé was going to respond – McCree always took Hanzo’s proudness in stride with smart riposte. After a beat, McCree’s hand shot out, and something wet smacked against Hanzo’s cheek.

 

Hanzo drew back the same time McCree did. A paintbrush in his hand, coated with wet paint. Hanzo reached to touch his beard, and his fingers came back green.

 

“You,” Hanzo said slowly. “You did not touch my beard with that.”

 

“Oh, but I did,” McCree gave a smug and lazy smile.

 

Hanzo’s heartbeat quickened. With exasperation or adoration he couldn’t tell – it’s always a close call with McCree – and dipped his brush into the red paint he was using.

 

McCree moved as far away as he could on his stool. “Now, you wouldn’t want to make a scene, right? We’re trying to keep a low profile here.”

 

“You’re right. I think we need some disguise,” Hanzo replied, and practically stabbed his brush on McCree’s forehead before drawing a long strip down his face. McCree sputtered out some paint.

 

“Hey!” He rubbed his forehead. Hanzo was almost falling off his stool laughing when another wet splat hit his ear. McCree stuck his brush with blue paint right in Hanzo’s ear. He yelped at the unpleasant feeling while it was McCree’s turn to laugh.

 

A fierce and swift battle began in the back corner of the painting classroom. Paint of various colors squeezed out so they could coat each other’s face – or whichever body parts they could reach – in colors.

 

When the instructor finally decided to put an end to it, both Hanzo and McCree were covered with paint like a preschool child’s or a modern painter’s art project. McCree couldn’t open his eyes due to the paint.

 

“Just get yourselves cleaned up, please,” the instructor said to the two mid-forty years old men, and hand Hanzo a wet cloth.

 

McCree was still wheezing breathlessly when Hanzo gently wiped the paint away from his eyes. And he kissed Hanzo with the force of their laughter once Hanzo wiped his mouth, too. Hanzo smiled into the strong but chaste kiss. It tasted bitter and like chemicals. It felt right.

 

“We should go back to our rooms and just stay in,” McCree said when he pulled away, rubbing Hanzo’s rapidly hardening beard fondly, picking off dry paint.  

 

Hanzo leaned in to kiss him again, warm and flush, so – stupidly happy.


	31. Hanzo: Can I pet the fish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO okokokokokokok I think thats hilarious and I hope this isn’t way off but how else would this go????lmao  
> [Genji is wearing this btw](http://cibeeeeee.tumblr.com/post/168576523106/genji-is-wearing-this-btw)

“Oh my God,” Hanzo said. It sounded funny from the usually even-toned, expressionless man. Now he was wearing the most astonished face McCree has ever seen him in, eyebrows almost to the point of his hairline. “What did you do to my brother?”

 

Genji slumped and Hanzo could feel his scowl from beneath the visor as McCree doubled over laughing beside him. Genji wobbled slightly as he walked, reached to grip the front of McCree’s shirt with one hand and lifted the man entirely off the ground.

 

“You said no one would see me like this,” Genji said darkly, tone genuinely threatening, although McCree never stopped laughing (he was wheezing now). “I’m going to kill you both. No one can live after seeing my like this.”

 

Genji’s words would be so much more scary if he wasn’t wearing a giant fish costume and looking as miserable as one could get. The fish head was protruding out from Genji’s chest, and Genji barely could fit his head out the opening at the top.

 

Hanzo couldn’t help it. His stomach strained to the point of pain trying to hold the laugher in. With Genji attempting to grab McCree with both arms but failing, Hanzo lost it. He choked on the hold-in breath and started cachinnating.

 

Hearing Hanzo, McCree laughed even louder, and Genji swore even harder. He tried to chase the two men but couldn’t help crashing into furniture.

 

“This is too precious. Can I pet the fish, can I?” Hanzo said as he held onto McCree for support. They both burst out a new rounds of laughs when Genji fumed at Hanzo’s words.

 

“Do not call me a fish – ” Genji stopped dead when they hear footsteps outside. He bolted to the window, and flipped them off before jumping out.

 

Angela walked in, and found their resident archer and gunslinger gasping for breath, holding onto their stomach, and Hanzo saying, “Have I told you, how much I love you?”   


	32. "I won't use your whole name unless I'm mad at you"

The fact, the absolute fact, that Jesse McCree, one of the most dangerous man Hanzo knew alive, who's distrustfulness gave Hanzo a run for his money, would trust Hanzo enough to get shitfaced in front of him, place himself into Hanzo's care, and trust the man not to shiv him while he was drunk. This trust was something that made Hanzo's fingertips numb with overwhelming tightness.

"Hanzo, Hanzo..." McCree mumbled. His words slurred and accent thickened. Like melted honey. Hanzo reached to steady McCree, chest hot with unsaid affection when McCree leaned into him.

"Careful, McCree."

"Why do you call me McCree?" McCree asked. "I call you Hanzo, don't I?"

"Do you feel I am close enough to call you by your first name?"

"I feel...." McCree drifted off, and slumped further into Hanzo. Hanzo guided McCree down to sit on the concrete floor of the roof. McCree opened his mouth again, hot and wet against Hanzo's neck. "I feel so close to you..."

"You are drooling into my shirt."

"Close to you, Hanzo, that I want to give you my name."

Hanzo stilled. McCree didn't continue. So, weakly, Hanzo asked, "Jesse McCree?"

_No, no, sunshine._ McCree said it so softly Hanzo could have swore it was a misheard. "I want to give you my full name. My real name. Jesse is my middle name, y'know?"

"I did not."

"But you gotta promise me somethin'"

"Anything."

"You gotta promise not to use my full name unless you're really mad at me, that's what my mama used to do."

Hanzo swallowed at the mention of McCree's family, wanting to chase the thought but knows perfectly well McCree would tell him in his time.

"I will not use your whole name unless I am mad at you," Hanzo promised.

Jesse nodded in the crook of Hanzo's neck. He mumbled something. Loud enough for wispy hisses to come through, not loud enough to be heard.

Hanzo was unsure if he should ask McCree to say it again, but McCree picked his mouth up from Hanzo's skin, and said, "Joel Jesse McCree."

Hanzo took the name in, saying it silently. Letting it sink. McCree, rather irritatedly, said, "Don't you laugh."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, yeah...."

Hanzo turned the name over in his head. Joel Jesse McCree. What a biblical name. Prophets. God's will. A gift to the world. Hanzo thought it fit McCree perfectly.

"I would reciprocate the gesture, but you already know my name "

McCree breathed slowly. His heartbeat fast and hard through both their shirts. The night air was fruitless at chilling them.

"Tell me about your home," McCree said eventually, just when Hanzo was about to get lulled to sleep.

Hanzo was still sleepily cradling McCree in his arms when he contemplated the words. He thought about the cheery blossoms. The way the sun warm Hanzo's skin. It was uncanny how similar McCree and the sun was. McCree shifted back to look at Hanzo with hesitation, Hanzo gently guided McCree back to where he was.

"A village, high atop a hill..."

 


	33. "I want a waterbed"

"Hanzo."

"Yes?"

"I want a waterbed."

A pause. "Why?"

"Because it's comfortable, that's why."

"Normal mattress are without a doubt more comfortable."

"No they ain't. Waterbed won't have springs sticking at your ass while you sleep."

"There's a spring broken? Why not just buy a new mattress then?"

"That's what I want to do, and I'm suggesting a waterbed."

"Jesse."

"What?"

"Tell me why you want it."

"I already told-"

" _Jesse_."

"I've always wanted one since when I was a kid, alright? It looked really fun and I just...since I have a place to stay now...."

Another pause. A click. Datapad turned on.

"We will get whichever one you want."


	34. In lieu of kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling Prompts: In lieu of kissing!

“Was that mole always there?”

 

McCree craned his neck to look over Hanzo’s head at where their hands were linked together. He lifted his hand up, bringing Hanzo’s with him. “Huh,” McCree said. “I don’t know.”

 

Hanzo fitted his cheek back into the crook of McCree’s neck and brought McCree’s hand to his face, rubbing his knuckles against his hot skin. McCree chuckled.

 

“Feeling any better?”

 

Hanzo shook his head, long giving up on denying he has the flu. His face was pale with a tint of sickly green. McCree wanted to kiss him better like he always enjoyed doing – but despite having the flu shot, Hanzo refuses to let McCree’s mouth anywhere near his.

 

So they settled on cuddling in the rec room with some reality bake-off show playing for white noise. Hanzo nested against McCree, being affectionate to the extreme now the flu in his system has taken all his filter and restraint away. Nuzzling on McCree’s beard and gentle caressing on the back of his hand. They drove out whoever was left in the rec room thirty minutes ago when Hanzo started commenting on how pretty McCree’s eyes looked under the Christmas lights.

 

It still flushed McCree slightly when he thought about it. Hanzo with no control over his adoration outlet shouldn’t be too much of a problem, according to some team members, but it could also be disastrous for some others. Hanzo wrapped his arm around McCree’s waist and practically crawled into his lap with a content sigh – and McCree was completely annihilated.  

 


	35. Post-proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Number 20 post proposal mchanzo pls~ (bonus points if its still a cruise ship one)  
> The Cruise ship one is chapter 29!

“Jesus, I feel like I’m a teenager again,” McCree managed to get out in his frenzy of kisses. Hanzo let out a bone-melting moan, low and gravelly, shaking McCree to his core.

 

“Is it the kissing?” Hanzo asked. His words were a little mixed together because McCree was still biting lightly on Hanzo’s lips. “Or is it sneaking into restricted places?”

 

“Both,” McCree said, fingers sneaking to Hanzo’s neck so he could feel his pulse there. “Neither.”

 

Hanzo backed into a bench and they fell into a mess of tangled limbs and inseparable lips. After some maneuvering, with both men still unwilling to let each other go for more than two seconds, they managed to sit on the bench with one of Hanzo’s legs still in McCree’s lap, though neither paid it any mind.

 

“Neither?” Hanzo questioned.

 

“I was actually thinking –” McCree laughed when Hanzo started sucking on the skin just below McCree’s ear, it always tickles him. “When I was still a kid…I was running around with a gang and we kinda, crashed a wedding one time.”

 

“I presume the couple wasn’t happy.”

 

“No, they weren’t, sweetheart. The bride killed three Deadlock members and shot me in the leg.”

 

Hanzo chuckled. “And that gave you the attraction to people who shoot at you?”

 

“That’s not – wait,” McCree’s eyes widened like he just realized something.

 

Hanzo smiled. The night wind was stronger and colder on the highest part of the ship, usually off-limits, but Hanzo was told he was an excellent climber and they wanted to see the stars after a very emotional dinner, involving some expensive alcohol and a shiny ring. Hanzo tucked his hair behind his hair and forced himself to return to the present, wrapping his coat around McCree’s body, snapping his fiancé back to his story as well.

 

“That’s probably a thought for another time. And?” Hanzo urged.

 

“Oh,” McCree blinked. “When we were in the church, I knew I was going to stay a criminal all my life, but….”

 

The wind blew through Hanzo’s ponytail. McCree reached to tuck Hanzo’s hair back again, keeping them away from Hanzo’s eyes. His other hand – the one with the ring – came to Hanzo’s cheek, gently caressing the neatly trimmed beard there. McCree’s eyes were softer than his touch.

 

“But wouldn’t it be pretty if I got a chance to get married?” McCree said, leaning forward to kiss Hanzo again for the countless time.

 

Hanzo melted against McCree, as though he was the one that got proposed to. The way McCree’s body warms Hanzo, the way he let out small sighs between kisses. The way Hanzo acutely feels all of McCree’s muscles moves beneath his fingertips. The way every ounce of Hanzo’s soul is trying to remember how they fell together at this moment – it felt very much like so.  


	36. "How come I always end up calling you when I can’t fall asleep?"

McCree was by the beach when he got the call.

 

It was nearly four in the morning. He had one too many cups of coffee during the day, now he was paying the price. After two hours of reading and one more spent at the shooting range, McCree saw the sky purpled in the distant, and he decided that the sunrise could be his next distraction.

 

Wandering to the beach unnoticed was easy, but certainly dangerous. He told Athena where he was going and for how long before he left, and he was sure she had sent a drone following him in secret some distance behind him.

 

McCree patted some of the sands off of his palm before taking out his phone. The caller ID made him smile: #2367. He never got around to change the names on his phone after Winston installed every agent’s contact in their phones, since he has no problem just remembering everyone’s code.

 

“Hi,” he said quietly, even though there was no one here to disturb other than the waves and one lone crab skittering across the sand.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo said, “did I wake you?”

 

“Not at all,” McCree stretched and let out a grunt and a sigh. “I was just chilling.”

 

“Are you…” Hanzo went quiet for a second. Even his breathing stopped. “Are you by the sea?”

 

“Good ear.”

 

“The ocean is loud, it’s all.”  

 

McCree hummed. “Just woke up?”

 

“I don’t think I fell asleep at all.”

 

McCree made a sympathetic noise. “That ain’t nice.”

 

He could feel the bone-deep exhaustion from Hanzo’s sigh through the phone. At least McCree chose (to a certain degree) not to sleep. And there were only three things McCree would consider the worst things in the world: Angela’s cooking, wet socks, and insomnia.

 

“How you feel about pills?” McCree said.

 

“Genji doesn’t want me to….”

 

“I see,” McCree replied softly, digging his fingers into the cool sand and letting them escape through his fingers. “Are you going back to sleep?”

 

“I do not know,” Hanzo said.

 

The color of the sand changed, and McCree finally turned his attention away to look up, in time to see the horizon glimmer.

 

“Why don’t you open your window then?”

 

“What?”

 

“If you’re not going back to sleep.”

 

There was rustling. McCree imagined Hanzo throwing the covers off of him in his dark, gray standard dorm room. Then came the sound of curtains being pushed to the side. McCree looked up, even though he knew he couldn’t see the base from here. Hanzo was just above the cliff, out of sight, but his breathing was right next to him, ruffling his hair. He wondered if Hanzo would try and look for him.

 

Hanzo’s voice snapped McCree’s mind back from the feeling of the ocean breeze. “I can’t see you from here.”

 

McCree grinned at nothing. “See the sunrise, though?”

 

Hanzo hummed. “Sunrise by the sea,” he remarked. “Roma–”

 

“Huh?” McCree asked.

 

“Nothing.” Hanzo sighed. “How come I always end up calling you when I can’t fall asleep?”

 

“My soothing voice and devilishly charming personality?”

 

“I will give you the voice. I am not sure about the other one.”

 

“Aw,” McCree took off his hat and place it over his heart.

 

“I will need some more persuasion.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“Maybe I’ll run into you in the kitchen for coffee.”

 

“I can make a fine good cup of coffee,” McCree said. “So good anyone would fall in love – with the coffee.”

 

“I look forward to it,” Hanzo replied in his low, smoky tone. “But now, let us enjoy the sunrise.”


	37. "Why is your hand on my ass?" (nsfw)

“Hanzo Shimada,” McCree gritted out through clenched teeth. “Why the hell is your hand on my ass?”

 

Hanzo looked up at him, his oh so innocent eyes bright, even in the dim janitor’s closet. However, the curve of Hanzo’s smile was anything but innocent as he leaned into McCree, closer than needed for the whisper, “There’s only so much space in here, _Jesse McCree._ ” Hanzo emphasized on McCree’s name to retaliate. He rarely spoke of McCree’s whole name and he knew, the bastard _knew_ just how weak it makes McCree’s knees go when he does.  

 

“You ass,” McCree said. “Why did I ever let you talk me into that? Why?”

 

Hanzo pressed his nose back to where it was a few minutes ago – right below McCree’s ear. This allowed their bodies to be flushed against each other, and with Hanzo between McCree’s thighs, lightly grinding.

 

“We can finish what we started,” Hanzo replied, and gave McCree’s ass a brutal squeeze. McCree grunted. Face raised to the ceiling. Adam’s apple bobbed invitingly right in front of Hanzo’s eyes. So Hanzo did what it invited him to do – a gentle lick. McCree snapped back.

 

“It tickles.”

 

“I know.” Hanzo really wanted to kiss his way down to McCree’s chest, stomach, happy trail, like he had planned on doing outside before they heard footsteps coming down the hall, but there was no space here for Hanzo to do anything more than pressing himself further to McCree. McCree let out a low moan when their erections rubbed together, maybe Hanzo could make him cum without any hands…

 

That was a thought. Hanzo rolled his hips. McCree cursed.

 

“They could still be out there!”

 

“We have not heard anything for several minutes.”

 

“Still–!”

 

McCree’s protest got cut short due to a well-timed pinch to his ass. Hanzo dug his fingers between McCree’s cheeks. The roughness of the fabric made McCree shifted uncomfortably, and in result, into Hanzo’s crotch. Hanzo grunted, his arms trembling beside McCree’s head. He dropped his forehead to McCree’s cheek and panted heavily.

 

McCree gave up – he grabbed Hanzo’s hips and pushed forward. Hanzo let out a chuckle, low and gleeful and smug that he got McCree to snap. McCree bit down on that smirk, earning him another moan. If someone did come by and open this closet (they certainly can, there was no lock on the door), they were inexorable, determined to grab and kiss and bite until one of them screams out, eyes rolled to the back of their heads.

 

That person turned out to be Hanzo. Face slick with sweat, hair stuck to his flushed cheek as McCree showered kisses on him. He went rigid in McCree’s arms, and as the telltale sign of wetness soaked its way into McCree’s pants, the gunslinger let out a muted yell, and followed.

 

They slumped there, panting in the now humid and stuffy closet. Clothes and hair sticking unpleasantly to their skins. McCree pushed off the door with a pained groan.

 

“My back can’t take a beating like that anymore,” he complained.

 

Hanzo’s arched an eyebrow. McCree rolled his eyes. “Well, not for another week. Can we just go back to our room and do it properly on a bed, please?”

 

Hanzo combed his fingers through McCree’s beard and placed a kiss on his chin. “Since you begged, okay.”

 

He opened the door and left McCree bristling behind him, “I did not _beg_!”

 

Hanzo’s only response was a lewd gesture that made McCree sputtered even more.

 


	38. "I dare you to kiss me"

Hana Song can be incredibly persuasive when she intends to be. Somehow, almost all members of Overwatch had all been in one or more of her live stream despite their better judgment. Even Doctor Ziegler was roped into multiple games of surgeon simulating games that quickly became one of Hana’s most popular streams. Of course, collaborations between D.Va and Lúcio were always a hit. Surprisingly, Hanzo was a skilled player that Hana often choose to have when she wanted some serious winning, the chat was always a hoot when they team up and beat the shit out of the opposing team. Reinhardt for horror games, the big man loved to share his own scary stories, but have a proclivity of screaming when a ghost appears on the screen. McCree, Hana was on the fence for a while, after a few streams, she found that he was the best company for story-based games, insightful, quiet, humorous when needed but never shadowing the game, he was a popular choice in Hana’s comment section for RPGs.

 

Today, it was the rare occasion where she got two members in one stream. Hana busied herself with setting up her programs while Hanzo and McCree sat on both sides of her, chatting quietly.

 

“Okay, I’m ready. Are you two ready?” Hana clicked to begin broadcasting after hearing the two’s affirmative grunts.

 

She gave her usual opening and both men also gave their greetings to the audiences. First thing first, Hana turned her attention to the chat, and burst out laughing.

 

“All right, one minute into the stream and there’s already people asking why Hanzo is wearing a full shirt today,” she said. Hanzo laughed. McCree was silent but Hana could imagine the eye roll. “And the other half is thanking you for wearing a shirt today.”

 

“It is not my fault that half your audience does not appreciate good things when they see it,” Hanzo said haughtily.

 

“I don’t think not knowing how to wear a shirt properly is a good thing,” McCree remarked coolly, chewing on his lollipop as Hana forbid any smoking during her stream.

 

Hana leaned forward and talked directly into the mic as the two men engrossed themselves in their usual altercation. After she thanked a few donations, talked about the game a little, Hana turned back to look at Hanzo and McCree, “You two done?”

 

Hanzo nodded and McCree shrugged.

 

“Good enough for me!” Hana said cheerfully. “Okay, start!”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a long stream, so they had to take breaks every few hours. Bathroom breaks, snack refill, talking to her audience. The number under the stream was daunting because both fans of Hanzo and McCree were here. They answered a few harmless questions, but generally she made sure to not let them see the chat out of a small sense of protectiveness. Nothing egregious, she wanted them to have a good time.

 

“Hanzo, I dare you to kiss McCree,” Hana read out loud. Her eyebrows shot up and she laughed. “Wow, Knapsack4264, that’s out of nowhere – stop spamming for them to kiss!”

 

“Interesting request,” Hanzo said.

 

“Dang, that chat is going by at the speed of a bullet,” McCree said. “How do you read this thing?”

 

“What are they saying?” Hanzo asked.

 

“They’re debating if you have the guts to do it,” Hana said.

 

Hanzo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do I have the guts, please.”

 

“Guys, we’re going back to the game in three minutes. Bad timing, oops,” Hana said.

 

McCree leaned back in his seat, putting his arms behind his head. “Yep, don’t embarrass him.”

 

“What?” Hanzo bristled.

 

“I understand not having the guts to kiss someone in front of millions of people,” McCree plucked the lollipop stick out of his mouth and flick it into the trash.

 

“And you just assumed I was not going to accept the dare?” Hanzo asked.

 

“Look at what you guys started,” Hana said, but by the look of the chat, people were waiting for a good show. Neither Hanzo nor McCree was listening to her.

 

McCree raised an eyebrow. “Were you now? I imagine you being all talk.”

 

Hanzo growled in response. McCree retracted his arms, leaned his cheek against his fist and looked at Hanzo from under his eyelashes.

 

“All right then,” McCree drawled. “I dare you to kiss me.”

 

It was a good thing Hana had been sitting on the ground in front of the couch, or else she surely would have tumbled off the by the force which Hanzo flung himself at McCree. (Later, when Hana looked back at the recordings, she would see McCree surging forward too, meeting Hanzo in the middle.)

 

Hana glued her eyes to the now supersonic speed chat, too fast to see any words, but she would rather that than the small square on the screen that showed what was happening behind her. She could hear small moans and rough breathings, too low to be picked up by the mic, thankfully, or else she would have had to change the stream rating.

 

Hana let them have twenty seconds. Twenty seconds. She knew how much they’ve been dancing around each other, so she’ll let them have this twenty seconds.

 

“All right, break it off!” Hana said. “There, they did it. You all happy now?”

 

Hana did not see the chat’s response. For only twenty seconds, Hanzo and McCree sure did give each other their all. Flushed cheeks and flusher mouths, Hanzo even still has McCree’s bottom lip between his teeth.

 

Hana shook her head. Hanzo and McCree return to their spot, on either side of Hana, now silent. She started up the game again, and could feel the agitation radiation from both sides from two people obviously aching to continue.

 

She chuckled to herself. Maybe she will cut this stream shorter than usual.

 


	39. "Are you implying you want to kiss me?"

“Oh, you think a man tasting like burgers during a kiss is a bad thing?” McCree laughed.

 

“When I intend to kiss someone, especially for the first time, I would never allow myself near these foods for at least two hours prior.”

 

“Kissing someone for the first time, huh?” McCree flipped the patties. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would have principles for these things.”

 

Hanzo huffed a laugh, accepting a done patty from McCree and fitting it into a bun, already filled with an assortment of cheeses and vegetables, before putting in with the rest of the burger.

 

“When I think about kissing you,” McCree said absent-mindedly, distracted by the very important task of grilling burger patties the team had entrusted him. He picked one well-done veggie burger patty up for Hanzo to take, “I imagine it –”

 

The patty stayed on his spatula. McCree frowned and looked over at Hanzo. The man had the buns ready, but made no move of taking the patty from McCree, only fixed him with a stare.

 

Tingles went down McCree’s arms. “You okay there?”

 

Hanzo held his gaze. His brows furrowed in intensity like when he was aiming for his target. Or simply dumbfounded to the point of total blankness. A piece of lettuce slip from the bun. McCree’s eyes followed the green, but Hanzo remained petrified.  

 

McCree brushed a strand of hair that fell in front of Hanzo’s eyes away. Hanzo’ eyes flickered to McCree’s hand before clearing his throat.

 

“What did you say?” Hanzo asked, too calm for someone whose mouth was seconds away from hanging open like a broken puppet.  

 

McCree fixed him with a perplexed look, “I said–” he cut himself off.

 

Hanzo waited for him to continue. Though now it was McCree’s turn to freeze.

 

“I said,” McCree eventually managed out. “I said when I think about kissing.”

 

“When you think about kissing me,” Hanzo clarified for him. The bastard was wearing a subtle smirk, reveling in McCree’s mortification.

 

“ _No_ ,” McCree nervously chuckled. “No. I meant kissing, in general.”

 

“Kissing me in general.”

 

“Alright, let’s not do this.” McCree dropped the now cold patty back to the grill, pretending to concentrate on the complex task of salt sprinkling.

 

His spatula was gone from his fingers during his attempt at not looking anywhere to his left. Hanzo put the tool down, and his hands returned to grab the front of McCree’s flannel.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo breathed out slowly, warming McCree’s skin further. “Are you implying you want to kiss me?”

 

“I thought I told you to drop this,” McCree grumbled. But Hanzo pushed himself into McCree’s space.

 

“How do you imagine I kiss?” Hanzo murmured, gently pressing his lips to McCree’s beard. McCree couldn’t feel it on his skin, but the agonizing movements across his facial hair were enough for him to grip Hanzo’s biceps tightly.

 

“I, uh….” McCree started, and Hanzo gave an encouraging hum. “I fancied the idea that you’ll start with my bottom lip.”

 

Hanzo’s sigh ghost past his cheek, right before Hanzo lay his mouth on McCree’s bottom lip, caressing slowly. McCree let out a shuddered breath.

 

“And…you’ll put your fingers in my hair,” McCree’s eyes fluttered shut when he felt Hanzo move his hands up, burying them in his hair.

 

“Mmm,” Hanzo made a pleasing noise when McCree’s tongue darted out for a second. “And then?”  


McCree grunted. He felt laughter rumbling in Hanzo’s chest. “And then we both shut up.”

 

Instantly, Hanzo’s fingers tightened and he dragged McCree into the kiss with one swift, furious movement. McCree wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s shoulders, knees failing, but Hanzo pushed him up. Their mouth and tongue met in frenzy attempts for control at first, but both settled into a comfortable pace.

 

Under the summer sun, they folded into each other for a blissful, bone-melting kiss. Hanzo tasted like the beer Reinhardt gave them, and McCree – tasted like burgers.

 

Hanzo was in the midst of memorizing McCree’s cupid bow with his tongue when the door behind them swung open and a very hangry Lena stormed out.

 

“There you are!” She shouted. Hanzo and McCree, still wrapped around each other, stared at her with wide eyes. Lena grabbed the plates filled with burgers and gave them a glare.

 

“We’re in there starving and you two are out here snogging! Honestly!” She kicked the door open. She did not spare them a second glance.

 

Hanzo turned back to McCree. They looked at each other, and to the patties that were rapidly becoming something naughty children would find in their stockings, then back to each other.

 

“So,” McCree cleared his throat. His voice sounded all weird in his ears, shaky and high-pitched. “You wanna ditch the grill and go make out with me somewhere else?”

 

Hanzo smirked. His eyes drifted back to McCree’s mouth. “Lead the way, cowboy.”   


	40. A Kiss of Relief

Hanzo heard the outcome before he saw it, and it very nearly killed him.

 

The bullet went past him, before everything happened, sounds and consciences drained from his body. The bullet went past him, and he knew who was behind him.

 

McCree made no sound when he went down, but he gasped painfully when Hanzo moved him out of the line of fire, which he knew for McCree, that was perhaps the uttermost level of pain for the man.

 

Hanzo’s heartbeat was so loud in his ears he could not hear clearly if McCree was breathing or not. The man’s face was pale, and his breathing was short.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo tried, though his voice trembled. His hands warmed from McCree’s blood, leaking through Hanzo’s fingers, but whenever he applied more pressure, McCree reeled in pain, but if he _doesn’t_ – “Mercy is on her way. Do you hear me?”

 

McCree grumbled something under his breath, and laughed. Saliva mixed with blood dribble down his chin. Hanzo fumed.

 

“Did you just joke?” Hanzo barked. “For fuck’s sake, McCree!”

 

This time, when McCree talked, the blood in his mouth truly made his words muffled into a jumble of mess that sank Hanzo’s heart. McCree’s body lost what energy it had to stay upright.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo said, quietly. “God, McCree. Don’t.”

 

McCree’s hat fell to the ground as his head hit Hanzo’s shoulders softly, nearly toppling Hanzo altogether, but he could see gold from the corner of his eyes as he tried to stay calm.

 

“I need him lying, Agent,” Mercy dropped to her knees. She worked with precision. Composed. The Doctor worked with one hand, picking out bullet shreds and bone that shattered, the other held the Caduceus Staff, its beam flowing steadily to McCree’s wound.

 

McCree still was not moving. Hanzo could hardly notice his breathing. He couldn’t check without getting in Mercy’s way, so he picked up McCree’s hand, turned it gently.

 

The pulse was faint. Hanzo only felt it after he took several deep breaths. He knew if the bleeding continued…McCree…

 

Hanzo’s blank thoughts were interrupted by the Doctor. She injected something. McCree woke with a loud yelp, cursing to the moon and back.

 

The pulse underneath Hanzo’s fingers suddenly roared back to life. Hanzo felt like he could collapse right there. Hanzo wanted nothing more to feel the renewed breath of the gunslinger with his lips, but Mercy was still working, and selfish needs like this was never a valid reason to disrupt missions.

 

Hanzo choked out a smile. He brought McCree’s hand up to his face, pressing the strong pulse to his lips.

 

McCree’s fingers curled around Hanzo’s, gripping Hanzo’s thumb tightly, seeking the small comfort. Hanzo pressed his lips further into the soft skin, finally, finally breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

 


	41. A Hope We Don’t Get Caught Kiss

“People sometimes come by here,” McCree managed to say, gritting the words out in hopes no one hears them. Hanzo silenced him efficiently with a talented tongue and a firm grope to McCree’s pecs.

 

“Then you will have to learn,” Hanzo said when he broke away to let McCree catch his breath, though he kept McCree’s bottom lip between his teeth, looking up at the flushed cowboy from under his lashes (making McCree’s blush spread to the back of his neck)

 

“Still, this potted plant won’t be any good if people–” McCree’s sentence was cut off once again when Hanzo pushed into him, tongue dragging across his lips. McCree let out a pleased moan.

 

“The fact that you are still talking is a testament to my skill,” Hanzo said. He dipped down to nip at McCree’s pulse and McCree took the chance to plant a kiss at Hanzo’s crown. “And I am not pleased.”

 

“Try harder,” McCree drawled. Hanzo met his lofty and challenging gaze with determination, and whatever concern McCree had with their poorly chose hiding spot got knocked into another dimension when Hanzo slammed them against the wall and buried his fingers in his hair.  

 

Some minutes later – was it only one, or ten? McCree could not recall, but from the warm soreness of his lips and the subtle ache of back against hard surface for a long amount of time, he presumed it was longer than he ever had indulged in the act of simply kissing a man. They both parted with a startled gasp when the door to the small room opened. They had chosen this room because it was far from where everyone’s rooms were and seen very little use, but apparently, this was also the place Hana came to play games.

 

She did not look up from her handheld gaming device, and the men wondered if the houseplant was bushy enough for her to not see them. She went to the couch and flopped down.

 

Tearing their gaze away from the back of Hana’s head, Hanzo gave McCree a look: _What the fuck are we going to do?_

 

McCree glowered back: _I told you this would happen!_  

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes when the door opened again. Lena hopped in. McCree and Hanzo both tensed up, but her eyes went straight to Hana.

 

“Hey! A store in town is having a huge sale on beer, and I’m just asking around to see if there’s anyone like to tag along,” Lena asked.

  
  
“Not for me, thank you though,” Hana replied. Her eyes glued to her screen. “But you can ask Hanzo and McCree, they’re behind the plant.”

  
  
Lena turned and spotted them immediately. “Oh, hey! Almost didn’t see ya two there. Want to come?”

  
  
Hanzo cleared his throat, moved the leaves away to show their faces. McCree had his poker face on, but Hanzo knew on the inside he was beyond mortified. “No, thank you.”

  
  
Lena nodded, gave them a wave and walked out.

  
  
There was a moment of silence. The only sound was the audio from Hana’s game. They stayed behind the plant, before McCree spoke up. 

  
“I was thinking –”

  
  
“We could go with Lena and get drunk?”

  
  
McCree tightened his arms around Hanzo. “You read me like a book, sweetheart.”

 

 


	42. Getting Caught in the Act (nsfw)

McCree liked the way Hanzo feels in his mouth, heavy and hot, and if McCree timed it right, he might even catch Hanzo right after he finishes working out, drags him into the nearest empty space that could just barely fit two large men and shoves his face into Hanzo’s sweaty, musky crotch while the archer tangles his fingers in McCree’s hair with a pleased smile on his face.

 

Sometimes, if they have the luxury of a bed underneath them (meaning if they held it together long enough to get to a room), they grind against each other. Hard jeans against silk slacks. Sweatpants against boxers. Leather against cotton. Always ends up wet and satisfied.

 

Today, after McCree politely excused himself from movie night and Hanzo not even showing up, he went back to his room and was greeted with a knock by the window.

 

He didn’t understand why Hanzo preferred coming through his window (Hanzo argued that this way no one will see him, but McCree suspected that he just enjoys the feeling of sneaking around with a lover). McCree’s belt was not even off when Hanzo pushed him onto the bed and kissed him like he has been waiting for ages to do so (McCree thought every second where he had to see Hanzo in public but unable to kiss him was the most agonizing thing in the world, but when they finally came together it feels warm and dizzy, like after a few glasses of fine whiskey). Hanzo’s tongue rolled across McCree’s lips as they pushed their hips together.

 

“Hon-ey,” McCree groaned. His hands groping blindly. Hanzo spread his legs and perched on McCree’s lap, pressing down lewdly.

 

“What?”

 

“I think,” McCree wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s waist and pull him down. “I think I wanna fuck you tonight.”

 

“You have to get me on my knees first,” Hanzo bit McCree’s neck, pulling at the skin with just the right amount of pain for McCree to moan shamelessly. No one was going to hear them out here anyway.

 

The poor bed had seen so much action from these two that it was a miracle it stayed intact as they vied for the upper hand, rolling and grabbing, pushing and pulling, anything to get the other man to moan louder. So it was by pure luck that when they stopped to catch their breath they were quiet enough to hear the small stammering voice coming from the room somewhere.

 

They froze mid-kiss. They were sure the room was empty, but the voice was unmistakable too. Hanzo and McCree stopped completely, straining to catch the faint sound. Then, _Lúcio’s_  polite and awkward voice came from somewhere near the floor, and spoke those fateful words that will send McCree into self-exile across the globe with Hanzo by his side and Genji who will try to hunt them down and kick their ass for making him go through the worst nightmare of his life, “Uh, guys? Sorry to bother you, but I think you accidentally pressed on the broadcast button on your comms. You may want to…turn it off…”      


	43. “Their pick-up lines wasn’t as good as any of mine, I’m just saying.”

“Their pick-up lines wasn’t as good as any of mine, I’m just saying.”

 

Hanzo sat his glass down. “Excuse me?”

 

McCree shrugged. “Their pick-up lines.”

 

“Which ones are you talking about? Three times someone came up to me tonight.”

 

If Hanzo sounded smug, that was because he is. But McCree wasn’t going to pay those normal Hanzo behavior any mind. “The _girls_. The ones you look remotely interested in.”

 

Hanzo barked a laugh. He asked for another refill before turning in his seat to face McCree, his left arm resting on the counter. Any slight shift caught McCree’s eyes, because any slight shift from Hanzo’s muscles felt like downing a fine bourbon, pooling in McCree’s stomach. God, he hated that tight shirt, since it made Hanzo looked ten thousand times more desirable, and Hanzo loved that shirt for the exact same reason, which made their weekly drinking in the town bar just that much more agonizing and rewarding.

 

“I was only interested in them because they were from Chile. I have fond memories of the country,” Hanzo sipped at his whiskey. “But I am amused at your confidence,” he downed the glass, “and jealousy.”

 

McCree rolled his eyes. “I am not jealous. I just don’t appreciate when people butcher the art of flirting.”

 

“I would not think of it as art, from some of the lines I’ve heard you say,” Hanzo smirked. He ordered two shots.

 

“Hey – slow down there,” McCree put a hand on Hanzo’s arm, but didn’t stop Hanzo from throwing back two shots back to back. “I know I’m driving, but be careful with those.”

 

The shot glasses were sat down far harder than necessary. Hanzo’s cheeks were red from the alcohol, but he looked at McCree with clarity. Like he was seizing up a target.

 

“I do not need to be,” he replied. He reached over, to the hand McCree still had on Hanzo’s arm, and gripped it. “I know I am in good hands.”

 

McCree sat there, in silent shock, as Hanzo finished his sentence by bringing McCree’s hand to his lips, gently placed a kiss on his knuckles, before dropping his forehead to the counter and conveniently passed out.

 

McCree’s hand was now trapped in the iron grip of a sleeping assassin, and he honestly did not how he should take all of this in.

 

The bartender came to collect Hanzo’s glasses, and saw the position McCree was in.

 

“Oh good, he finally did it,” she said, snapping McCree’s attention off of Hanzo momentarily. “He was practicing that line for ages when you went to the restroom. I thought my tequila stock was going to be drained dry before he gets the courage to actually say it.”

 

        


	44. “I kissed you because I didn’t know what else to do.”

McCree had attended galas during his time with Overwatch. Hanzo had attended galas during his time with the Shimada Gumi. They know the drill. They know the process, the small talks, the fake smiles, the tincture of high-class faux behaviors. The only good thing about galas were the food and drinks, and neither can really enjoy either when they were in the middle of an undercover mission in said gala.

 

McCree caught Hanzo gazing longingly at the table full of expensive champagne, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want a glass to dull the pain of talking to these people. Instead, he took hold of Hanzo’s arm and steered them away from the line of sights of the enchanting alcohols.  

 

“Let us keep our head clear, hon,” McCree murmured. Hanzo sighed beside him and offered an arm for McCree to wrap his around. “The leader of a firearm trafficking group is heading right toward us. She looks like she wants to talk.”

 

“Waste of time. We are not here for her.”

 

McCree nodded in agreement and turned just so to disappear into a coming group. “Eyes?”

 

“None yet,” Hanzo replied with a pleasant smile fitted for his character of the night. “Although there is a gentleman at two o’clock that just choked on his cigar.”

 

McCree whipped his head to look, and just managed to catch the last few seconds of the man coughing and spitting on the ground before he got escorted out by security. He wanted to throw his head back and laugh, instead he turned toward Hanzo and they both snickered behind their hands.

 

“This is the only good thing about this kind of mission,” McCree sighed.

 

Hanzo hummed and tightened his hold on McCree possessively when someone looked over at them. He argued it was for safety.

 

McCree laughed. “I didn’t ask!”

 

Even though they tried their best, they couldn’t avoid the inevitable questions. At parties like these, someone getting married was always a good chance to gain connection for future use. All McCree and Hanzo had to do were smile, keep each other close, and lie through the roof.

 

“When’s the wedding?” Someone-whose-name-McCree-did-not-bother-to-remember asked.

 

“May fifteenth,” Hanzo replied. They smiled at each other in unison, keeping up the just-engaged-and-excited act. McCree tried not to think why they were so good at this.

 

“A spring wedding? Romantic.”

 

“I like to spoil him,” Hanzo replied.

 

“An’ I like to be spoiled,” McCree grinned at the small crowd. They laughed. _Why_? McCree thought, _I wasn’t being funny._

“It must be so good to find love in this day and age,” an old man sighed. “All I had was wives and no heart-to-heart partners.”

 

“I assure you, in this marriage, we are getting both a husband and a partner.”

 

McCree turned to Hanzo, only to find those dark eyes fixed on him already. Voices of agreement rang out around them, and they have all their eyes fixed on him too.

 

He felt the weight of the situation. There were wrinkles around Hanzo’s eyes that only appeared when he was genuinely smiling.

 

McCree cupped Hanzo’s face, and pressed his lips against that smile.

 

Hanzo leaned into him, his skin hot, and McCree could smell the faint floral scent of Hanzo’s beard oil. It felt silky smooth between his fingers. Hanzo moved with McCree, gently taking his bottom lip in, and let go altogether.

 

The attendees of the galas were unsure of how to make of this bold declaration, though neither men looked, nor did they care.

 

“What was that for?” Hanzo asked, too low to be heard.

 

“I…” McCree rubbed his lips against Hanzo’s cupid bow. “I can’t not kiss you right then and there. I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

Hanzo pulled McCree closer, brows furrowed in dismay. “I am tired of this farce,” he snarled. “Let us end this now so I can take you to bed.”

 

McCree dramatically swooned while everyone around them gasped. “You sure know how to spoil a man, darling pie,” he grinned and pulled out his gun. He fired two warning shots into the air. Hanzo rolled his eyes as screams rang out.

 

McCree leaned down for another kiss. “Let’s give them a two-minute head start.”


	45. “Your lips are getting really close to mine.”

The on-base gym rarely saw any action during the hours before dawn, except for one agent. Hanzo preferred coming in early for many reasons. The lack of people. The cooler air. Self-discipline. He would come in every day before sunrise, work out for two hours, light breakfast, then meditate with Zenyatta and Satya for another hour before the day officially start.

 

A smidgen of annoyance flared up in Hanzo’s chest when he got to the gym and saw the lights already lit up. That annoyance shimmered down to a gentle warmth when he saw who it was.

 

“Hey,” McCree greeted him, panting on the bench. He must have been here for a while, judging by the soaked shirt that clung to his body. “Thought I might run into you.”

 

Hanzo nodded and decided not to think about the implication. “Couldn’t sleep?”

 

“Yeah,” McCree grabbed his water bottle and took three large gulps. Hanzo watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed from the corner of his eyes. “Was a little agitated. Thought I work off some of the steam, hope ya don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all,” Hanzo huffed and went to set up his own set of weights. He could feel McCree coming up behind him. His footstep was nonexistent, if it wasn’t for the heat radiating off of McCree, Hanzo might not even notice him.

 

“I was just having my break as well, need some help spotting?”

 

_No_ , Hanzo thought. He doesn’t need help. He had never needed help training. But the heat from McCree was going straight to his chest, mixing with the warmth already nested there. Hanzo felt dizzy, like after two bottles of the finest booze.

 

He kept his back to McCree. Breath in, breath out. He said, slowly, “If you want.”

 

McCree, bless him, gave that little chuckle he liked to when it was just the two of them alone. He touched Hanzo on the elbows slightly, and instead of staying behind him like Hanzo anticipated, McCree moved to the front, held his arms out.

 

“Ready when you are,” he purred.

 

Hanzo gave him a slight glare and lifted up the bar, dropping it across his shoulders with McCree’s hands following his movements. He squatted, McCree followed.

 

They did this for a few times, rest, reset and again. No talking, no eye contact, too much heat.

 

By Hanzo’s fourth set, the heat was getting unbearable for him. Heavy training with another person in this close of a proximity was a bother, but Hanzo was lying to himself if he said the pros outweigh the cons.

 

By the fifth set, he finally realized what felt different, and that was only because he finally lifted his eyes to look at McCree.

 

“Your lips are getting far too close,” Hanzo panted. Maybe not a good time to start this conversation while the weights still sat across his shoulders.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” McCree hummed, eyes fixed directly on Hanzo’s lips.

 

Hanzo growled. “Shameless.”

 

“Not a trait you fancy?” McCree laughed, the puff of air hitting Hanzo’s face.

 

Hanzo’s arms wavered. McCree’s hands were immediately beneath his, supporting the weight.

 

“Don’t go boneless on me down, archer,” McCree jested.

 

“McCree….”

 

McCree leaned into Hanzo. “Someone got your tongue?”

 

Hanzo dropped the weights. It landed on the mat with a heavy thud, thankfully didn’t break any toes or equipment.

 

Hanzo pushed McCree back, gripping the front of his shirt and pressing him against the wall. McCree let out a pleasing groan when his back hit the wall and Hanzo’s lips met his.

 

If the heat before was challenging to bare, the sheer tension gripping both men now was practically torture. Hands groping anywhere they could. Teeth biting at every chance they could, followed by soothing swipes of a tongue. Hanzo felt like he was on the verge of suffocating every single second and brought back to consciousness the next by the man in his arms. McCree moaned and groaned, voicing every pleasure and appreciation with wordless means.

 

“You – are – so – _noisy_ ,” Hanzo gritted through his teeth. McCree silenced him with another round of kisses, and let him go with a pop.

 

“I can be much noisier if we continue this,” McCree promised with a bite to Hanzo’s racing pulse.

 

Hanzo retaliated by pulling McCree’s hair and forcing him back to expose his neck. Hanzo licked a stripe up to McCree’s ear and took his earlobe between his teeth. McCree’s knees buckled.

 

“My room is closer,” Hanzo whispered into McCree’s ear. McCree nodded, finally speechless.

 

They managed to stay kissing even though they stumbled on the discarded weights by their feet. They passed the empty hallway, and the window showed a rising sun. McCree smashed the code to his room in impatiently. He had to redo it a few times because it seemed like letting go of each other for two seconds were two seconds too many.

 

Finally the door opened. McCree pulled Hanzo in, hand already down Hanzo’s pants.

 

He’ll have to take a rain check on meditation today.     


	46. “Stop with the tongue thing, it’s strangely attractive.”

“I can help you with that, if you like.”

 

McCree looked at Hanzo, who was towering over McCree. The sun made McCree’s eyes squint, and Hanzo moved to block it for him.

 

He was sitting at one of the garden chairs in the greenhouse, working on his ripped shirt. The sun was bright and the air was cool, so McCree thought he catch up on some overdue fixing (he had to, this was his last good shirt and it had to get shot through yesterday).

 

McCree had been fixing his own clothes for years, they were never perfect and could survive people’s eyes just fine.

 

But Hanzo was offering, and they haven’t had a chance to sit down and just enjoy each other’s company in a long while. Mostly, McCree was just curious.

 

McCree pulled out the chair next to him and waved for Hanzo to sit. Hanzo took the needle and the shirt from McCree as he did so.

 

“This was from yesterday?” Hanzo asked, handling the needle effortlessly. McCree shouldn’t be so fond and impressed, but he just was.

 

“Yep. Got another pile here from the missions last months too.”

 

“Do you only wear clothes with holes?”

 

“Or just nothing at all,” McCree smirked. Hanzo paused to laugh.

 

A Deep and throaty laugh, what wouldn’t McCree give to place his ear on the man’s chest to feel it.

 

Hanzo asked about the mission. McCree’s reply was brief and concise, before he moved on to something more interesting, like asking Hanzo how his day was.

 

Something loosened in McCree’s chest, to finally be able to chat with Hanzo. From God knows when, Hanzo has become how McCree relaxed.

 

That was until Hanzo needed to re-thread the needle, and instead of putting the string in his mouth like a damn normal human, Hanzo decided to stick his tongue out, and then place the string into his mouth.

 

But the eye was too small, McCree knew, he struggled with it at first too. The thread frayed again, and Hanzo had to reform the fiber to try again.

 

McCree thought he should look away, though it seemed like he could not. Hanzo stuck his tongue out again, just a little –

 

“Stop with the tongue thing,” McCree blurted out. Hanzo looked over at him incredulously. McCree continued, “It’s strangely attractive.”

 

Hanzo’s eyebrows shot up. McCree’s eyes widened. Both their mouths hung open, speechless.

 

The immense embarrassment seized McCree back to function before Hanzo did, and he sprung up, face red enough to blend in with his flannel.

 

“I, uh,” McCree gestured at the door. Hanzo said nothing. “I’ll just go get a scissor, and something to drink. Do you want anything? Something cold. I’ll just get us something cold. You make it hot in here. _God_ , no, I mean the sun.”

 

McCree berated himself for running away at that moment, but in all honesty, what could he have done?


	47. "I won't let you"

They talked about where they want to be buried. Hanzo said something about burial at sea, like a passing thought, since they were sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking at the sun rising from the water. McCree wasn’t so keen on the idea, saying he’s been drifting all his life, he ain’t so sure he wants to continue it after death. He’d choose tree burial.

  
  
Hanzo was quiet for a moment.

  
  
Shimada has a family grave. He told McCree, if he ever does die on a mission - it could be next week, or next month, or next minute - whenever that happens, he does not want to be buried there.

  
  
McCree said he’ll see to it personally to not let that happen. Climb out of his own grave, if he had to.

 

I won’t let you, he promised. And Hanzo knew, a promise from McCree was the most valuable thing one could have.

 

  
So, where did he want to rest, then?

  
  
Hanzo said, he doesn’t know.

  
  
McCree replied, how about with me? It’d be a bigger tree.

  
  
Hanzo smiled, only if he gets to pick the tree. Because is there anyone closer to you than someone who hated you, loved you, fought you, and still chose you, after everything?

 

McCree placed his hand over the gaping hole on Hanzo’s chest, the warm blood filled the space between his fingers, warmer than the golden glow he could feel ascending on them. _It’s a deal, then,_ he said.

 

  



	48. “Please don’t do this.”

“Please don’t do this.”

 

“I have to,” McCree furrowed his brows. “After everything we’ve been through, I can’t let this stop us now.”

 

“It’s not that important,” Hanzo insisted, tone raising.

 

McCree took off his hat, placed it on his chest so Hanzo could see his face, fully, without hindrance. “It is to me.”

 

Hanzo shook his head. “You’ll regret this.”

 

“I probably will. I regret a lot of things.” McCree dropped his hat and grabbed Hanzo’s hands. He didn’t flinch from McCree’s touch, thankfully. “But there are things I don’t – like proposing to you.”

 

Hanzo turned his hands so it was him holding onto McCree instead. McCree continued, “And I don’t think I’ll regret marrying you, either. So I have to do this.”

 

“He’ll torture you,” Hanzo murmured. “I’ll wake up, not see you there, and perhaps find you lying somewhere….”

 

“Don’t think about it,” McCree said, but there was a tremor in his voice, he knew Hanzo noticed it too. “I’ll be alright.”

 

There was a loud, single knock on the door. Hanzo sighed, it was time. It seemed there was no changing McCree’s mind.

 

McCree picked up his hat and placed it back on. Hanzo walked McCree to the door. Before opening it, McCree turned and gave Hanzo a smile.

 

Right as McCree pulled open the door, a dagger surged at him. Hanzo tensed behind McCree, but caught himself last second. McCree did not move a single muscle.

 

“Good,” Genji said, the dagger in his hand steady, the tip stopped just before McCree’s nose. He retracted the weapon with a flourish spin, looked McCree dead in the eye.

 

“Okay, cowboy,” each word was slow and deliberate. “You are mine until dawn tomorrow. You have to go through everything I set up for you, _if_ you survive, _then_ you can marry my brother, got it?”

 

“Loud and clear,” McCree replied in the tone of facing a superior officer.

 

“Come on then,” Genji stepped aside to let McCree pass, undisturbed by the glares Hanzo was sending his way. Before turning a corner, Genji spun around and gave Hanzo a cheeky wave. 

 

 


	49. "Just breathe, okay?"

Hanzo dragged him off, carrying most of McCree’s weight. Wouldn’t want to fall flat and make _more noises_. Jus’ attracts the unwanted attention from their sleeping teammates – genuine concerns, but the last thing he need was everyone crowding him _asking if he was all right._ (No, of course not, but he can’t say that, can he? It was bad enough he woke Hanzo –)

 

The man in question pushed open the metal door, helping McCree to the deserted patio just outside the safe house. Covered in vines, shadowed by trees, overran by heather bushes (Hanzo had to tear away some branches and vines to get in.)

 

He sat McCree down on the stone bench, McCree, half daze, shock by its dryness. It should be damp with mist – his head dropped – why wasn’t it? – McCree’s eyes caught something blue underneath him. Hanzo had sat his robe on the bench first.

 

“‘M fine,” McCree groaned.

 

“You will be.” Hanzo crouched down before him. “You don’t have to keep quiet here. Just breathe. Breathe.”

 

Like a gentle command, McCree finally allowed himself to take in a gulp of air, and a second, and a third. His ragged breathing sounded inhumanly loud in his own ears, he knew it sounded worse in Hanzo’s.

 

It took him a few moments to realize the caresses on his back wasn’t the branches poking into the patio through the opening, but the rhythmical pattern Hanzo was rubbing into his shaking muscles.

 

Unintentionally focusing on the touch calmed McCree down faster than ever. It took only minutes this time. McCree rubbed his face, astonished. His breathing slowed to a normal, his heartbeat catching up. Hanzo’s palm came back up on his back, continued up to cup his neck.

 

Hanzo dragged him down by the nape so McCree could rest his forehead against Hanzo’s. His breaths hit Hanzo’s sleep-mussed hair, shivering in the dark, calming him further to see physical evidence of being alive.

 

“Breathe,” Hanzo said, just low enough for McCree to know it was meant for himself.

 

“Sorry for scaring you,” McCree murmured.

 

“It had been some time since the last one, that is all.”

 

“It’s this damn place…”

 

Hanzo stopped him.

 

“Not now. Do not think about it now,” he said. “We will talk about it after the mission, yes?”

 

McCree chuckled. “Yes, thank you.”

 

Hanzo leaned forward, pressed his lips lightly to the corner of McCree’s mouth, and a second, and a third –

 

McCree pulled him up to the bench with him, lips locked in respite from the ugly thoughts that plagued the both of them whenever they get too – comfortable in life.

 

Arms wrapped tight. Heartbeat indistinguishable. Breathing in each other. Breathe –

 

They were wonderfully alone in the trees.


	50. “I love you, please don’t go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not always do you get to say what you want to

McCree rarely saw Hanzo turn down a cup of sake. Especially after McCree warmed the drink up with water instead of sticking it in a microwave like Hanzo was prone to. The man had been quiet ever since he went out to get dinner. The food was gone, and he was still quiet.

 

Now he was refusing alcohol, which was never a good sign. Not that McCree had any problem with drinking alone with a company. It was worrying for McCree because it meant Hanzo was in a dilemma.

 

Of what? They just finished a job a few days ago, with no offers that interested them at the moment. Was there a new offer he did not know about, that Hanzo was debating on his own?

 

McCree went to the small fridge and grabbed a beer for himself, a bottle of convenient store green tea for Hanzo. Hanzo murmured something when McCree dropped the bottle in his lap, McCree will just assume it was a thank you.

 

The news was on in the background with attention paid by neither of the two temporary occupants of the apartment. McCree was reading, only paying attention to the TV when certain words came up, and leaving parts of his mind on Hanzo.

 

Hanzo was staring somewhere in the direction of the bathroom, seeing nothing. His brows furrowed in a way that suggested he was upset, not the usual frown that plagued his countenance. There was something in the lines between his brows that set McCree on edge. A muted lugubrious sign. A familiar alarm going off in McCree’s head.

 

“If you need to take a shit, just go,” McCree said.

 

Hanzo tore his gaze away from the bathroom and looked at McCree listlessly. McCree breathed through the urge to ask Hanzo just spit whatever he was thinking out.

 

If McCree didn’t know how skilled he was at hiding his emotions, he would think that he wore his thoughts on his sleeve. But he was still as good at hiding as he ever was, Hanzo was just getting better at reading him.

 

Somehow, the thought did not scare him as much as it should.

 

Hanzo finally talked.

 

“I am going to Overwatch,” Hanzo said.

 

McCree froze.

 

“Genji finally decided it was time,” Hanzo’s gaze on him was numbing. “He is going with his teacher. He asked me to join him.”

 

“No,” McCree laughed, reflexively rebutting, but no words followed.

 

“These past few years I haven’t been able to properly mend things with him. I needed time, he had business to take care of. Now there may be a chance for us to…”

 

Hanzo’s thoughts stopped so abruptly, as though he wasn’t sure how the sentence should end either.

 

There was no reaction from the both of them, until the TV started to get on McCree’s nerve, he jammed a finger on the remote pad to shut it off. The silence was needed for them to get their thoughts into coherent words. Two years of being together did not provide enough practice to undo a habit forcefully formed for people like them.

 

Finally, Hanzo said, “Now, for the first time in our lives, we are finally heading toward the same destination.”

 

“And you’re here, _informing_ me of your decision,” McCree replied.

 

Hanzo reached over to grab McCree’s shirt. McCree hated that he leaned in out of the longing to kiss him; hated even more that he decided to stop himself.

 

(He would have kissed Hanzo like his life depended on him if he had known that that was his last chance).

 

“I am here to ask you to come with me,” Hanzo said.

 

McCree laughed, at himself (he should have known by now everything good in his life leaves), at Hanzo (because Hanzo knew McCree would refuse, but was still cruel enough to ask him of this).

 

“I am not going back. Never. That thing should stay ruined.”

 

“It is not the same Overwatch that failed you,” Hanzo said, his words taking on a desperate pace, hoping to get his words to McCree before McCree finally refuses to listen. “You may not trust my words, but Genji – ”

 

McCree tore himself out of Hanzo’s grasp, indignant, “ _Fuck_ off.”

 

Hanzo breathed slowly out of his nose. McCree slammed the door on his way out.

 

When he returned, Hanzo was not there, but his stuff was still where he left it. McCree threw his hat on the couch. Kicked off his boots. Took two pills. Glared at nothing as he pulled the cover over his shoulders.

 

Then a thought wiggled into his angry mind – he forgot to leave the lights on for Hanzo.

 

But the sleeping pills knocked him out before he could open his eyes.

 

The next time he opened his eyes, he gasped at the uncomfortable heartbeats in his throat. He rolled to his side, eyes focusing on the sudden strangeness of the room.

 

Hanzo’s stuff was gone.

 

McCree sat up, his head heavy as he recalled the dream he had. Hanzo standing by the bed, hands cupping McCree’s face, dropping a kiss on McCree’s forehead.

 

In the dream, McCree tried to murmur something, but he could acutely realize how heavy his lips were, how he tried to say something but was too weak to move. McCree remembered the moment Hanzo’s lips touched his skin, he finally knew what he wanted to say.

 

As he watched Hanzo walk away, the pills dragged him into the darkness once more – before he could say them.

 

 _It’s alright_ , McCree thought. _I’ll tell him when I wake up._

McCree stared at the door. From the corner of his eyes, he could see something yellow. He blindly reached out, snatching the color, eyes glued to where he saw Hanzo last.

 

The yellow note stung McCree’s eyes, too bright. But it was the three words on it that brought the unforgiving pain.

 

He never dreamed when he slept on pills.

 

The insidious pain gnawed at him, at his own gross foolishness, at his own temper that caused him more than it saved him, at the words he never got to say. McCree lost a lot of things in his life, and all of them were lost because of his own doing.

 

The little patch of skin where Hanzo said his silent farewell was numb. His last contact with Hanzo.

 

Clutching the note in his hand, McCree realized, Hanzo really did believe McCree would go with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the timeline seems confusing to you, in this story the setting is Overwatch recalled, but Genji, Hanzo and McCree did not go right away. Genji and Hanzo reunited, but Genji wanted to finish up some things before going back to Overwatch. Hanzo, after finding out Genji is still alive, spent some time adjusting, met McCree during a job, fought, and fought and fought, before ending up as partners, then as lovers. By this time it has been a few years since the recall. Hanzo kept in loose contact with his brother.
> 
> After a few years, Genji decided he is finally ready to go back to Overwatch - and asked Hanzo. McCree out of his own issue, did not answer the recall in the first place, and outright refuses the idea of Overwatch returning to his life. 
> 
> But Hanzo put Genji in first place. McCree thought his fear of Overwatch failing him again was greater than Hanzo - before realizing his revulsion for Overwatch was nothing in comparison to losing Hanzo.


	51. "You haven't lost me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is the continuation of the last chapter!

The room he was assigned to was right next to a ruined satellite tower where Hanzo could easily retreat to it without being noticed if needed to. Originally it was Genji’s, but his brother asked Hanzo to switch; he said Hanzo’s original room was closer to the showers, Hanzo thought it was a subtle kindness on his brother’s part.

 

Hanzo used the space more than he would care to admit. The room too stiff, too square, the window unable to open for security reasons; the common area too open, too crowded, Hanzo felt trapped when he can see escape routes but unable to leave because _it would be rude to Genji’s teammates._

But the satellite tower…it was secluded, with enough space for him to sit. It faced the sea. The satellite dish canopied the sky, but left enough gaps for stars to peer down.

 

It was where he could actually breathe easy.

 

It had been two weeks since he came, yet everyday Hanzo still woke up with a hitch to his breathing. A fear to his posture. He felt an outcast, every step he took sent jolts of tension up his spine. Recall was years ago, now the base had enough agents to set Hanzo on edge with every corner he turned, he sees a shadow of a person as they walk away; sometimes, when Hanzo was particularly unlucky, he would run into an actual person.

 

Hanzo sighed, his eyelid drooping, but nighttime was the few stolen moments he gets to himself. If sleep needed to be sacrificed for these moments, then Hanzo will have to take it.

 

He couldn’t sleep well here, anyway.

 

He was alone with the stars.

 

Hanzo thought he had fallen asleep; his mind did not register the touch even though he could see movement from his peripheral.

 

Like waking up from a dream, Hanzo realized he _was not_ sleeping. He snapped out of his half-asleep state and sprung to his feet, weapon ready. The stranger did not move.

 

Hanzo’s racing mind registered him. The man stood up slowly.

 

“This is where people used to come and gamble,” McCree said.

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo’s eyes blanked for a brief second before refocusing. His body almost betrayed him with a sudden rush of dizziness, thankfully his self-control saved him from showing the lapse in his defense. McCree stayed out of the moonlight, in the shadow of the ruined satellite.

 

“You can see this spot from the moon, you know?” McCree sat his hand on the satellite. “Not that I think there’s anyone looking down at us…”

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo repeated. His limbs felt weak, so weak that he could feel himself swaying with each wave crashing against the bluff below them. McCree was looking out to the sea, but perhaps that was not at all what he was seeing.

 

“I swore I would never come back here,” McCree said.

 

Hanzo choked on his name.

 

“But back then I didn’t think I would meet someone I’ll love more than I hate my past.” McCree turned to gaze back at Hanzo, despite being in the dark, his eyes gleamed brightly, and maybe – that was why he wanted to stay in the shadows.

 

“I made a mistake, Hanzo,” McCree stepped out into the light. His face was wrecked and tired like Hanzo felt for the past two weeks. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want to lose you.”

 

It was like the invisible despair holding them back snapped under the force of their yearnings. They simultaneously surged forward to each other, arms locked and face buried in one another. McCree choked out Hanzo’s name against his shoulder. Hanzo clenched McCree’s serape hard in his hand, breathing in the scent that seeped deep into the fabric.

 

“You haven’t lost me,” Hanzo said, rubbing his nose against the skin under McCree’s ear, kissing it lightly. “You won’t even lose me if you decided not to come.”

 

“I had to,” McCree sounded like he was trying very hard not to cry. “If I hadn’t, I would have been unhappy my whole life.”

 

Hanzo laughed, resisting the urge to sniff, and his nose hurt from the effort. McCree twisted himself out of the embrace so he could kiss Hanzo properly.

 

The kiss was brief, though somehow still languid. McCree drew back, laughing.

 

“Look at you, hardly able to keep your eyes open."

 

Hanzo caressed the bruise-like circle under McCree’s eyes. The man closed his own tired eyes, leaned into Hanzo’s palm.

 

“Stay with me tonight?” Hanzo requested.

 

McCree turned his face to press a kiss to Hanzo’s palm. “Not just tonight,” he murmured into the skin, like prayer, “I want to stay with you always."

 


	52. "Why me?"

“Why me.”

 

McCree tore his attention away from his datapad to Hanzo. “What?”

 

“Why are we together?”

 

“If this is your way of breaking up with me...” McCree tentatively deadpanned.

 

“My concern is why are you still with me,” Hanzo replied lightly, as though he was asking about today's crossword puzzle.  _Five down, a four letter word for why McCree put up with Hanzo..._

 

“What brought this up?” McCree asked in an equally light tone. It was his way of keeping his temper in check. Because, dear God, if Hanzo is trying to push him away for bullshit reasons then- 

 

“It is a genuine inquiry,” Hanzo said. “I was talking to Satya-”

 

“She badmouthing me? And I thought we were making progress when she invited me to train with her-”

 

“We were sparring,”

 

“Should I be jealous, hon?”

 

“And she asked about the bullet scar on my shoulder.”

 

McCree’s mouth snapped shut with a click. “Oh.”

 

Hanzo was looking at the window, though the curtains were drawn. With muted caution, McCree noted that Hanzo hadn’t looked to him at all since they started this conversation.

 

“Why me?”

 

McCree’s heart wrenched at the man’s listless tone. “That was almost eight years ago. You know I ain’t pissed at you anymore.”

 

“I can understand you letting go of your enmity toward me,” Hanzo said. “But -  _love_.”

 

“Yes,  _love_ ,” McCree got to his feet and walked to Hanzo. But Hanzo did not let him continue.

 

“We fought on and off for over a year before we were both recruited to Overwatch, and subsequently stuck together. Even though we both stopped trying to kill each other, we certainly did not get along. So forgive me if I don’t understand why out of everyone, you would choose me.”

 

McCree bristled. “You know I’m bad at these talks, but I’ll have Angela shoot me in the ass tomorrow if I don’t get through to your thick skull tonight. So look me in the damn eyes, and tell me if you really think that I don’t love you.”

 

Hanzo had to brush his bedridden hair out of the way, most of it curled and fluffed like a lion’s mane, or perhaps, a dragon’s mane would be more accurate. McCree wanted nothing more than to stick his fingers in them right now and ruffled it up even more while pressing his lips to Hanzo’s chin. 

 

But Hanzo was looking at McCree like he was a fraud at a casino. McCree broke the gaze and glared at the wall.

 

“Gosh Hanzo,” McCree said. “Trust me when I say this. I’ve never felt what I felt with you with anyone else before.”

 

McCree sat down next to Hanzo and wrapped his hands around Hanzo’s, eyebrows furrowed. “I never  _liked_  you.”

 

Hanzo wrinkled his nose at McCree. McCree chuckled. “It was mutual, wasn’t it…? I never liked you, I resented you because I was Genji’s pal first. But…”

 

McCree gently caressed his thumb over Hanzo’s knuckles, lingering over each and one of them. “But then…I just loved you.”

 

McCree’s face was burning up, because honest to God, he had never thought about it, let alone talking about it. When the words came out of his mouth he thinks himself ridiculous and sappy for someone like him.

 

“I still don’t remember how that happened. It was like stepping off a ledge you didn’t know was there, in a blink, I fell.”

 

McCree brought Hanzo’s hand up to his lips, kissing it with each word.

 

“I fell before you,” McCree’s breathe lingered over Hanzo’s finger, a press of lip, “beneath you,” another kiss, dropped on the side of Hanzo’s neck, “for you.”

 

McCree finished with Hanzo leaning into his lips, swaying under the dim TV glow. Silent, static, they joined like sunset meeting the horizon, McCree pressing them down to the mattress, Hanzo following down.

 

They fell, together.

 


	53. “I can’t sleep, can I stay here?” “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

McCree looked at the man outside of his room. Dejected, Hanzo seemed older than he was, even though the state of his hair hid the graying at his temple, McCree couldn’t help but feel awful looking at him.

 

But he was so, _so_ angry at him too. For being reckless, for disregarding himself, for dismissing people around him.

 

“Why are you here?” McCree asked, his arms on the doorframe, and obvious indication that he was not letting Hanzo in tonight.

 

Hanzo rubbed his face with the ball of his hand, so hard it looked painful.

 

“It’s late, shouldn’t you be asleep?” McCree said. “If you don’t rest, you won’t have the energy to get yourself killed at the next mission.”

 

Hanzo’s muscles tensed at McCree’s acerbic tone. McCree stepped out and let the door close behind him.

 

“Now don’t let me keep you, it’s not like I love you, right?” McCree said. “It’s not like you have anyone that gives two rat’s ass about your wellbeing, you said so yourself, Shimada.”

 

Hanzo sighed. “Jesse…”

 

“For fuck’s sake, what do you want from me?” McCree’s tone was getting a sharper edge to it because he feels his throat tightening with the alarming sense of wanting to sob his heart out. “Why do you do this? How could you say that?”

 

The mission was merely five hours ago, and somehow Hanzo had emaciated in that short amount of time. It might be the dim fluorescent lights in the hallway. It might be Hanzo’s contrite eyes.

 

It might be McCree’s own pathetic attempt at staying mad at Hanzo.

 

“Say something,” McCree mumbled.

 

“I am in no position to say anything,” Hanzo replied.

 

“ _Yes_ , you do.” McCree’s heart broke his own restraint broke. He gathered Hanzo into his arms. “You can always talk to me, even when you piss me off to hell and back.”

 

“I am not good with expressing.”

 

“Neither am I, Hanzo. You know I babble on so people wouldn’t notice I don’t actually say much. I don’t with you. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to.”

 

“I feel selfish for asking you to be patient with me.”

 

“You haven’t got a single idea how damn worth it you are.”

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo buried his face into the crook of McCree’s neck. McCree turned to kiss Hanzo’s mess of a hair. “I could not sleep. May I stay?”

 

McCree chuckled. “I would have gone to you myself if you hadn’t shown up, to be honest.”

 

Hanzo slowly detached himself from McCree. Their eyes met. The hallway was cold, the static buzzing of the lights droning in the air. Hanzo’s eyes were just as tired as McCree felt, but there was also the identical hesitation in his movement.

 

McCree moved first, pressing his lips to Hanzo’s. Hanzo sucked in a shaky breath, then let out a sigh of relief. McCree felt the drumming of Hanzo’s heart under his fingertips, the rising of his chest, the wetness at the corner of their eyes.

 

The sense of detachment settled into them as their mind put everything else on mute. The lights droned around them, the harsh light of reality failed to reach McCree and Hanzo, two drifting points, riveted by one another.

 

Sleep could wait.

 


	54. Date: Ice Skating

“You say you know how to do this?”

 

Hanzo scoffed. “How hard could it be? Surely if we can survive twenty assassins shooting at us, we can handle a little ice.”

 

McCree held onto the handrail and carefully stepped onto the ice. His legs gave a telltale wobble that he wished Hanzo missed, and used all his grip strength so he wouldn’t fall on his ass in front of his date.

 

-Only to be betrayed by God the next second when a group of children whisked past him, and McCree felt his legs gave, sliding out like butter on a hot pan, before landing on his back with a muffled “Oof!”

 

He glared at the ceiling. Hanzo’s face appeared, smirking. His bangs dangling with a slight curl at the end, McCree sighed inwardly what even something so small made his face a little warm.

 

“Not very good at this are you, cowboy?” Hanzo said.

 

McCree wrinkled his nose and took Hanzo’s hand. “Why don’t ya stop your little smirk and get on the ice?”

 

Maybe this meant McCree would have a valid reason to hold onto Hanzo’s hands for the entire date than, that thought perked him up. Hanzo stepped forward with all the confidence of a scion –

 

-Only to fall on his ass as well. Without factors like children.

 

“Cease your laughing,” Hanzo growled at him from the ice.

 

“How hard could it be?” McCree doubled over laughing, holding desperately onto the handrail. “You should’va seen your fac –”

 

Hanzo’s arm lashed out and caught McCree’s shins. McCree fell backward for the second time in less than two minutes. His back wasn’t going to like the abuse it had to go through tonight.

 

McCree glared at Hanzo. Hanzo grinned lazily back. Someone yelled at them to get up.

 

“Should we?” Hanzo asked.

 

“I have a feeling we would just end up right back on the ice,” McCree replied.

 

Hanzo laughed.

 

McCree was right, they did spend the majority of their time falling down instead of actually ice skating.

 

But at least the entire time they were falling, they were both laughing, gripping at each other, gasping for breath like they haven’t been happy like that in a thousand year. 


	55. Date: Building A Pillow Fort

“Putting it there is a stupid idea, you know it, and you’re just trying to piss me off.”

 

Hanzo scoffed and laughed, a terse and loud “Ha!” that made McCree’s skin crawled. “I do not know is it your American nature or your cowboy front that makes you think everything has to be big in order for it to work.”

 

“If we want to hold our position, a larger space would give us more freedom.”

 

“And it crumbles like cookies. If it is smaller, than it is harder to break, no?”

 

“Also harder to attack!”

 

Hanzo took a threatening step toward McCree, the other man did not move a single muscle when seized with one of the most horrifying glares in the world (said a certain Ms. Oxton). But the effect was significantly lessened on Jesse McCree who, a: been on the receiving end of Hanzo’s glare at least three times a day. B: Worked under Gabriel Reyes for most his life. And C: Always thought Genji had a scarier countenance when angry. (Although, the main reason might just be that McCree found Hanzo ineffably sexy when glaring)

 

McCree held Hanzo’s glare in silent enjoyment, retaliating with a smirk to grind Hanzo up so he would realize where McCree was sneaking his hand to.

 

Hanzo let out a loud gasp when a pillow hit him on the side of the face. McCree’s laugh got cut short, becoming a yell after Hanzo tackled him and they both crashed into the pillows around them.

 

“Our fort!” McCree said. “Hanzo, darling, what did you do?”

 

“If this pillow fort is making us quarrel, perhaps we are not ready for one.”

 

McCree ran his fingers through Hanzo’s hair that framed his face like black waterfalls. “Perhaps you’re right.”

 

Hanzo flopped next to McCree, his hand found its way to McCree’s. McCree brought their hands up to his lips before dropping them back to the soft surface of pillow and blankets.

 

Their peripheral were framed with pillows and blankets from every agent’s room. Most were white - standard issued sheets. From where they lay, they could not see anything in the rec room, squeezed between the couch and table, pillows all around them. They both felt a childish sense of privacy in there - neither of them spoke of this, though. The thought flustered them, but they pressed ever so slightly to one another.

 

“What are we going to tell the kids about their fort?” McCree asked.

 

“That we simply failed,” Hanzo replied easily. “Then they can build one themselves. Torbjörn will be back soon.”

 

“I guess we’ll just wait for them here for now.” McCree turned his head, his eyes closing.

 

Hanzo turned, too. His nose brushing against McCree’s. “For now.”

   


	56. Date: Crossing items off a bucket list

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Major Character Death in this

McCree was the kind that never really thought of his bucket list. Not until three years earlier. He and Hanzo had sat together, jokingly listing off things, mocking the idea, saying ridiculous wishes that neither of them admitted that some truth was held in those wishes. They didn’t want to travel, they do it all the time. They did not want to do crazy illegal acts, only hoped they do not get caught doing them. They did not want to be in a movie, have sex with a celebrity, or hang glide naked over a volcano.

 

It was two months after that very first conversation, that McCree again approached Hanzo with a very real, very plausible, very genuine idea. They’ve been talking about it ever since, making up possible stories, predictions, daydreams.

 

Three years later, somehow, it finally happened. Safty plans, correspondences, multiple fake ids. Most importantly, McCree finally had the courage to set it into motion.

 

A road trip, from Gibraltar to New Mexico. He was going to visit his mother.

 

Hanzo was the one that finally convinced him to do so. McCree had lost his chance to say goodbye to her once already. He didn’t want to one day join her sleep, without saying farewell again.

 

She was buried in a small church graveyard in Santa Fe. McCree was almost there. He felt his nerves gnawing at him because how the hell was he gonna express a lifetime of regrets to her? Where would he start?

 

McCree sighed. The desert rolled past him from outside of his car window; the red mountains in the distance moved much slower, he could spot the deer paths from here.

 

He decided he would start with Hanzo. His mother would be interested to know who got him back home.

 

He sighed again - ached for a smoke. That was another thing he gave up.

 

“I wished you had told me your bucket list, sweetheart,” McCree said to the quiet desert. “Maybe I could’ve crossed some of it off for you.”

 

A storm cloud formed in some distance in front of him. McCree rolled up his window and turned up the air-conditioner.

 

The thunder droned mutely outside, echoing the silence in the car.


	57. Scion Hanzo saving McCree's ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not a prompt, just a drabble because the new Hanzo skin is too delicious

They were speaking in Mandarin, and McCree really hoped he had refined his understanding of this language with Hanzo when he had the chance. He liked to hold every information he could - even while being tied up.

 

Not that he was in any disadvantage, but he  _was_ on a timer. One exit (guarded), four women, two men. Peacekeeper was not in this room. His dagger and explosives were also removed. Somehow they left his armor and prosthetic on, certainly made everything much easier. 

 

He estimated that he had three minutes before this turning into a bloodbath. No time to waste.

 

“Fellas,” he drawled. Everyone drew their eyes to him. McCree worked on the cuffs with the lockpicks in his prosthetic. McCree flashed a lazy smile and see everyone tensed up. He hid easier when attention was on him. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding-”

 

McCree did not get to finish his sentence. The door burst backward right into one of the woman. Her bone cracked under the metal.

 

For a moment, everything was still, every pair of eyes on the man at the door.

 

Hanzo did not say anything. His eyes were suddenly the only ones in the room that held any weight. McCree’s captors stood petrified.

 

Hanzo looked at his watch.

 

“Each second you had held him here is a drop of blood I will take from you,” he said.

 

McCree sat back for a show when Hanzo drew his sword.

 

Hanzo did not get a single blood on McCree, knowing how much McCree valued his serape even though Hanzo could pay for the most expensive drycleaning services in the world. McCree appreciated the sentiment, though Hanzo obviously did not have the same care for his own expensive suit.

 

“You missed our date,” Hanzo said, dropping McCree’s gun and other weapons in his lap. “Tonight was the last showing.”

 

“I didn’t mean to, sweet,” McCree replied. “You ain’t gonna help your poor partner out of this cuff?”

 

“Do not be childish,” Hanzo replied lightly. “I know you picked it already.”

 

McCree raised his hands up, caught. A crooked grin on his handsome face.

 

Hanzo wiped his sword clean on his sleeve - it was ruined anyway. It did prickle him more than usual, since McCree had on more than one occasion remarked that he liked Hanzo in this suit.

 

Well, he would just have to order a new one again.

 

“Genji said if we would just join Overwatch we would not be kidnapped so often,” Hanzo said on their way out. 

 

“I prefer working with you alone. It’s more fun.” McCree lighted up a cigar, but Hanzo stole it away to take a drag first. McCree ran his fingers through the short hair on the back of Hanzo’s head, making it stick up even more. Hanzo only huffed slightly, passing the cigar back.

 

“Come along, loveliest,” he said, winding an arm around McCree’s waist. “We can still make dinner.”

 


	58. Date: Extreme Sports

  
“I hate this, I hope they give them good foods after this.”

  
  
“ _They_ become good food after this.”

  
  
Hanzo ignored Hana’s horrified gasp and focused on his camera. The cows sprinted away from the horses but caught by the people. The rodeo was small, still no less crowded than malls on weekends. People screamed and cheered for their family, friends or simply strangers that caught their eyes.

  
  
Hana got bored quickly when the sixth group came out for their team roping. “I'm going to get another hot dog, you want one?”

  
  
Hanzo shook his head. Even though the bull riding was not for another half an hour, he did not want to take any risk of missing McCree.

  
  
Hana shrugged and picked up her pink cowboy hat as she left for the food stands, turning quite a few heads after cladding herself in borrowed getups from McCree himself. 

  
The rodeo was last minute. They heard it from a bishop at the local potluck. McCree had been surprisingly indifferent towards the idea, but Hana, and although unwilling to admit, Hanzo as well, perked up at the idea. McCree laughed and said they could go if they wanted to.

  
  
But _being_ in the rodeo was another incident of being at the right place right time. There was an allergy accident with one contestant. Sudden open slot. McCree helping them with the bulls - letting it show he knew his way around the rodeo.

  
  
He filled the spot for the sick contestant’s bull riding competition, getting whisked away from Hanzo. Hana gaped and burst out laughing when she heard about it later.

  
  
Before he knew it, Hana returned with three hotdogs - she got one for Hanzo anyway. He sat it in-between them and checked the schedule. The judge called out the winning name.

  
  
“It’s coming,” Hana said, biting down on her hotdog.

  
  
They sat through number one, two, three. McCree was the fourth one – “Joel Good,” they called.

  
  
Hay smell. The dust twisting up into the air after the horses and calves kicked the sands up, mixing with the rain. Raindrops splashed onto his skin and into his eyes. It stung, but not enough to tear his eyes away from McCree.

  
  
The bull busted out of the bucking chute and thrashed violently. McCree had one hand on the rope and the other high into the air. His hip moved in sync with the animal’s raging moments. Hanzo couldn’t see his face, but felt the infuriating confidence that rolled off the man - the way he held himself in the center, different from all the other that fell before the eight-second whistle. Jesse thrashed with the bull. He was the more ferocious of the two.

  
  
The judges whistled, unable to help their cheers. McCree had scored ninety-three.

  
  
“I didn’t think he could actually do it.” Hana praised, but was obviously less impressed than the judges and almost everyone present at the rodeo. Hanzo started, remembering where he was. “That was pretty good.”

  
Hanzo pulled his own cowboy hat down further so he wouldn’t have to see McCree looking at him as he walked out. The camera blinked at him with the still recording light. Hanzo pressed stop, then play.

  
Hanzo swallowed hard at the footage, making sure of it before anyone else sees it - that his heavy breathing and heartbeat did not make it into the video.

  
  
(It did. McCree grinned lazily at Hanzo from their bed when he accidentally stumbled across the footage. Hanzo glared at the way McCree purposely thrust his hip to mimic the movement, staring at Hanzo from beneath his lashes.

  
  
He was properly, blissfully punished.)  



	59. Date: At home massages

“Relax, Jesse,” Hanzo murmured against his ear. McCree let out a low groan as Hanzo kneed his fingers into his muscles. Who knew fingertips could dig so far down a person’s skin – it felt like Hanzo’s hands sunk forever into his back before it stopped, rubbing and pressing to smooth out the ache in McCree’s body. _Relax_ , Hanzo whispered once again when McCree tensed up, out of reflex not completely comfortable with someone doing this to him even though Hanzo would sooner admit he liked western movies before trying to hurt McCree.

 

Hanzo gently prodded at McCree’s side, making him laugh and squirm, then realized Hanzo wanted him to turn.

 

Hanzo lay McCree’s head on his lap, staring down at him. McCree’s face relaxed, smiled.

 

He placed his fingers on either side of McCree’s temple, pressed down, then to McCree’s crown, working the pressure down to his nape. McCree’s eyes slide shut. It tingled – from his head to his arms, stomach, legs, to his toes – McCree felt the bone-melting pleasure that coursed through him.

 

“Damn sweetheart,” McCree sighed. “Am I just old or are you just really good at this.”

 

“I think it would be both.” Hanzo earned a pinch to the thigh for that. He only chuckled in response.

 

“I need to remember what you’re doing now so I can reciprocate,” McCree said, feeling sleep in his eyes.

 

“Do not bother,” Hanzo replied, working his fingers on McCree’s scalp and neck. “You had a rough mission. Sleep. I will be here.”

 

McCree shook his head. “No…I want…”

 

He never finished his thought. A sudden weightlessness crept in. The last thing he remembered before drifting off into the first good sleep he had in two weeks was Hanzo’s lips on his cheek, welcoming him home.


	60. I love you: Loud, so everyone can hear

“McCree.”

 

“I’m here,” McCree answered. “Can you drink this more me, Han?”

 

Hanzo took the glass of clear liquid from McCree and gave it a little sniff, grimaced and trade it for the vodka shots lined up on the bar counter. McCree snatched it away in time. Hanzo gave him a glare and a surprisingly animalistic growl.

 

“Drink the water, and I’ll think about letting you have another shot,” McCree said. Hanzo reluctantly emptied the glass.

 

McCree took the glass from him and used his own sleeve to wipe some of the sweat from Hanzo’s brows. The bar was getting stuffy, and they had been drinking since eleven. Somehow Hanzo decided today was the day he wanted to try exchanging all of his blood to pure alcohol. McCree didn’t even get any because Hanzo drank all of his.

 

“Hang there okay, sweetie? I’m getting you more water.” McCree turned to signal for the bartender.

 

He should have known that the few precious seconds he left Hanzo unsupervised would make all hell break loose. The bartender heard McCree’s call, but instead of refilling his glass, her eyes went wide.

 

The crowds gasped. McCree whipped his head around – Hanzo was, of course, gone.

 

And where did McCree find him? Perched on top of the decorative deer head near the rafters, looking down at the horrified bargoers, but by the good lord’s name from above, no one was more horrified than McCree.

 

“Hanzo!” he hissed. Hanzo’s eyes found McCree’s, and his body wobbled slightly on the deer as he tried to straighten himself. There was a brief moment where he looked like he was going to slip and fall, McCree was ready to bolt and catch him.

 

He should have known a drunk Shimada Hanzo was still silent and slick enough to slip away from him.

 

Hanzo towered over them and took in a dramatic breath. McCree felt his stomach drop.

 

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo boomed, as though he was a king addressing his subjects. “I need you to know something.”

 

McCree took off his hat and ruffled his hair. “You could tell me while sitting next to me too.”

 

“My heart is beating too fast to be still next to you,” Hanzo replied.

 

Was McCree really having a conversation with his boyfriend while he hangs onto a deer head in a bar? He could hear the bartender telling Hanzo to get down, but Hanzo ignored her, and McCree was too stunned to reply logically. “Shouldn’t have had that seventh shot.”

 

“I need you to know, and I want everyone to know, that you ruined my life.” Hanzo stifled a burp with his fist. “You ruined me. I hate that you make me want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 

McCree’s legs gave out. He sat back down on the stool.

 

Hanzo’s voice was getting louder with each word, the bar was getting quieter with each word. “I would not wish for any companion in the world but you. I love you, Jesse McCree, with adorations. I love you.”

 

Then Hanzo had the _gall_ to jump down in the total silence of the bar, and start puking on the floor.

 

It was like a wakeup call. The bartender resumed her action, calling for her staff to help. People started talking, eyes darting from Hanzo to McCree.

 

McCree got to Hanzo’s side in a daze, holding his hair back and wiping the man’s mouth with his sleeves.

 

“You all right?” McCree asked.

 

Hanzo groaned into his palm.

 

“You crazy lunatic,” McCree said when Hanzo buried his face into McCree’s favorite serape, efficiently ruining it, but McCree wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, cradling him. Hanzo let out a weak grumble. McCree only smiled wider. “You’re lucky you're worth my world.”  

 


	61. I love you: With a shuddering gasp

After night falls, after everything is shroud in darkness, and before he will be woken up by the ruthless sun – there are the dreams. The dreams that hold its grip on him even after he starts awake, looking at the ceiling, trying to remember he’s not in danger of anything other than himself.

 

Sometimes, the dreams are so obstinate, that it returns after he closes his eyes again. People’s lifeless gaze once again pins him down.

 

He’s staring at his ceiling again.

 

“Should I call someone for you, Agent McCree?” Athena’s voice softly drones around him. A comforting static buzzes with her speaker.

 

“No, thank you,” McCree closes his eyes again, feels the back of his throat tightens with stress and insomnia. The communicator is right there. Athena is right there. Hanzo is just a request away.

 

McCree shivers despite the heat. He isn’t ready to burden Hanzo with himself yet. He wonders if he will ever be –

 

The choice of going back to sleep or not is disrupted by a soft knock on his door, like the person outside meant for it to not be heard. McCree gets up, bones protesting, answers the door.

 

Hanzo’s eyes are nearly black under the florescent lights, pool with low mansuetude found within moments after waking. Hanzo places his hands on McCree’s cheeks for a brief second, drop them, gaze at him.

 

“I do not know why I am here,” Hanzo admits. “I just woke up – and – did not want to be alone.”

 

McCree stumbles. Hanzo catches him, draws him in, warm, steady, safe.

 

He buries his face in the crook of Hanzo’s neck, pressing against the pulse he finds comfort in. Hanzo press light kisses on McCree’s crown.

 

“I love you,” McCree says with a shuddering gasp, too quiet to be heard.

 


	62. I love you:  When we lay together on the fresh spring grass

There was a gentle slope outside the back door of their small rented cottage. It was so small that every window in the house was in view of that little patch of grass they’d spend every morning and evening on.

 

Morning: McCree would get up early to prepare coffee and breakfasts. Hanzo would come in later, soft with sleep, grumpy with wake, softened again when McCree turned just so to place a kiss on his shoulder.

 

Evening: Hanzo would settle in the kitchen with ingredients, preparing a meal with whatever suited his fancy that night. McCree would sit behind him at the shaky, cramp table, humming _A Summer Place_ – temping Hanzo to join in with his rumbling voice that shook Hanzo to his heart. They never played music, the space around them too full to fit in anything else.

 

And each morning and every night, they bring their meals outside, on the same gentle slope, sharing the same drink, same food, same insidious sweetness.

 

They would be lying if they said they haven’t fallen asleep like that, out in the open, pressed against each other in an embrace, completely disregarding the dangers of forgetting who they were for twenty minutes – but doing so nonetheless.

 

It has been a month already, and two more weeks left. Still, they share breakfast, wandered around the small country they choose to hide themselves in, and return each evening, to their rented small house, out of view from anyone.

 

They probably wouldn’t disclose that this was how they chose to spend their vacation.

 

Sun-soaked air wrapped around them as they lay on their gentle green slope. Hanzo turned his head just so, his nose brushed against McCree’s with each breath they take. Their gaze rising to meet each other’s, under the promise of three – gentle – words…

 


	63. I love you: Over and over again, till it’s nothing but a senseless babble

Jesse McCree had always thought a life that was most simple and most ordinary must, therefore, be most terrible. He joined the gang before his voice even changed. He joined a black-ops division after he spat onto a government official’s face and earned the interest of a commander. He left that life behind in a pile of smoke and rubbles.

 

Jesse McCree should have known whenever, wherever and if ever he did have the bad luck of falling in love – it wouldn’t be with someone simple, ordinary, and therefore in his eyes terrible.

 

But out of all people, and out of all the stars that shone darkly over his life, of course Jesse McCree would be so unimaginable unlucky as to fall in love with Hanzo Shimada, with the archer’s dubious moral and dangerous hands and a past so virulent only a drunk or a fool would choose to face it.

 

Unlucky, that men like Hanzo do not fall in love.

 

Unlucky, that Jesse McCree had a tendency to hate the ordinary, and Hanzo was anything but.

 

Then why, why did Jesse McCree find himself huddled in a dark corner, right between a cliff and the very man he thought would never return any ounce of adoration?

 

Hanzo surrounded him, locking Jesse in his arms, pressing flush against him. His mouth at the corner of McCree’s right eye, soft, soft – soft with love on his lips.

 

Jesse McCree sat, still like a rock, listening to Hanzo talk about McCree: dubious moral dangerous hands and a virulent past – and how men like McCree would never set his eyes on someone like him.

 

But he loved him. Hanzo loved him. He loved him.

 

Jesse McCree fell, all over again in that breathless moment, locked Hanzo in his embrace. The words felt dangerous on his lips. Hanzo pressed his lips to McCree’s, as they say it over and over again, till it was nothing but a senseless babble.

 


	64. I love you: Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave

McCree’s voice was hushed, in a whisper, broken, as he clutched the sleeve to Hanzo’s jacket.

 

“Please, Hanzo,” McCree begged, there was an unusual tightness to his words. “Don’t leave. I can’t…”

 

McCree took in a deep breath. Hanzo turned his gaze away.

 

“I love you,” McCree said. Hanzo lowered his head. McCree continued, “I love you, I can’t do this alone.”

 

Hanzo sighed. Why could he never refuse Jesse? He held McCree’s hands in his and opened his mouth.

 

Somewhere behind them came a scream, then two, then multiple. They locked their horrified gaze with one another.

 

“UNCLE MCCREE!” Screamed one of Torbjörn’s grandkids. “YOU PROMISED US YOU WOULD WATCH DORA WITH US!”

 

McCree gave Hanzo a desperate face. Hanzo brought McCree’s hands to his lips and gently kissed his knuckles.

 

“Bye,” Hanzo said and promptly climbed the nearest wall, scrambling to leave before any kids saw him.

 

“Hanzo!” McCree hissed. “Hanzo!” He was yelling now. “You bastard! You can’t leave me alone here! You absolute mother-fuc – ”

 

“Uncle McCree?” One girl appeared right next to him. McCree came to a screeching halt.

 

“Yes, sweet pea?” McCree asked.

 

“You ready to watch Dora with us?”

 

McCree took in a deep breath, paused for a moment to look at the sky. He could see Hanzo peeking down from the edge of the structure. McCree glared.

“Yeah,” McCree said. “Let’s go, shall we?”

 

Hanzo was so dead tonight.

 

  


	65. A First Kiss

“I don’t think I can do this, boss,” McCree said.

 

“What now?”

 

“They just assigned me a table with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid my eyes on and I think I’m gonna die if I look at him again.”

 

Reyes’ annoyed sigh came through the comm but McCree hardly paid attention to it as he watched the man’s back carefully. Even without seeing his face, McCree still felt the manifestation of infatuation in his throat, large and burning.

 

McCree swallowed.

 

“For fuck’s sake, you’re a trained agent, keep it in your pants,” Reyes’ groaned.

 

He would have to, the man raised his hand with an elegant yet somehow authorities air.

 

By sheer willpower that McCree only had to use once when he needed to kill ten people with six bullets, he managed to not have his hands shake when setting the water on the table.

 

The man was still scanning the wine menu. McCree could see the man’s collarbone from this angle, his Adam’s apple, the way his lashes moved with his eyes.

 

Suddenly, those eyes were on him. Deep brown, hard, sharp, dangerous, like staring down a barrel of a gun, although McCree thought he never been this petrified when facing bullets.

 

“A bottle of your Chateau Margaux, please.” The man handed McCree the wine menu. McCree inwardly screamed. Handsome and incredibly rich.

 

The woman sharing the man’s table giggled delightfully at the order of the wine. The man gave a polite smile.

 

“Anything else?” McCree asked.

 

The man’s smile disappeared when he turned his gaze to McCree. It was replaced by something far more heated and…and _raw_. His eyes raked over McCree’s body, lingering at his arms and face; the man’s fringe casted a strip of shadow down the side of his face, darkening an eye. McCree stood involuntarily very, very still.

 

“That would be all.” The man’s eyes left McCree. McCree took his chance of breath to stride away.

 

“Careful with the bottle, boy, it’s perhaps your only chance at getting so close to such expensive drink,” the lady said to McCree when he came back with the wine. McCree smiled politely, poured the wine expertly. The man looked askance at her.

 

“It’s nice of them to let you work here,” the lady remarked, and it took a second for McCree to realize she was addressing him.

 

“Madam?”

 

“You think I don’t notice?” She gestured to her ear. “You try to hide it, but you are wearing a hearing aid, are you not?” She looked at the man, smug, as though seeking his approval for her perspicacious eyes. She took a sip of wine.

 

And then she said something so outrageous, so malign that even her companion stopped to stare at her.

 

McCree sighed through his nose.

 

“Jesse,” Reyes warned through his comm.

 

And then McCree poured that two hundred and twenty-five thousand wine over her stupid hairdo.

 

She screamed. Reyes cursed. The man smirked.

 

When the manager followed her to the restroom, apologizing profusely all the way out of everyone’s sight, McCree stood where he was, with an empty bottle in hand and a hell to pay coming any second.

 

Someone coughed. McCree turned to meet the man’s gaze, now openly full of mirth.

 

“I apologize, _signore_ ,” McCree bowed to the man.

 

“None needed,” he replied. “I’m afraid I shall be cutting this dinner short. I do not wish to spend any more time in her company.”

 

McCree hurried to get the man’s overcoat, feeling a little regretful that this meant he would lose the man much sooner than he wanted.

 

He helped him put on the coat. The man fixed his collar, put on his gloves and turned to regard McCree with those eyes.

 

“Is there anything wrong, signore?” McCree asked tentatively.

 

“I am just thinking how much tip I should leave you,” he replied.

 

McCree chuckled. “Well, since I ruined –”

 

McCree’s sentence was cut off when the man reached for McCree’s hand, gently raising it to his lips, and gave a soft kiss.

 

McCree right about melted then and there.

 

He stood there, mouth open and speechless, watched the man walked away with a pleased smile.

 

It wasn’t until his manager came back and yelled right at McCree’s face did he gained his senses back. And it wasn’t until he was kicked out of the restaurant did he realized there was something in his pants’ back pocket.

 

He took it out, and his mind blanked for the second time of the night. _That’s a shit load of money._

 


	66. Sharing A Bath/Swim

He might be spilling.

 

Once in a while, when a bullet would graze him a little too close, or when he would see someone falls, at a certain angle, certain light, he would feel himself unraveling.

 

He never not held onto himself long enough for people to notice. Once or twice, Angela would touch him by the shoulder and ask, “Are you okay, McCree?”

 

And despite everything, he could never respond truthfully.

 

He felt a hole of a thousand flies lodged in his chest, and he was always shocked when he sees himself in the mirror and it reflected a normal, only slightly damaged man.

 

He was in the shower, after one of those undesirable events, feeling the water rush across his skin, and he felt –

 

He felt he was going to dissolve, and spill, and washed down the drain, and no one would ever know he existed.

 

The curtain drew. Hanzo stepped into the water behind him. McCree kept his forehead on the wall.

 

A pair of arm circled him. A body pressed up against his. A forehead touched his shoulder. A kiss on his heartbeat.

 

Hanzo wrapped around him. McCree gripped Hanzo’s arms back.

 

He felt contained.

 


	67. A Hot Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Johnny Cash's Ring Of Fire

Somehow somewhere, Hanzo got his hands on a record player. One that was ancient, plays record, CD, and Bluetooth. Neither of their devices had Bluetooth.

 

Instead, he got a selection of records. All from artists and soundtracks McCree loved – with some general pop music and musicals thrown in, so it wouldn’t be so obvious Hanzo was only doing this for McCree.

 

They sat the player up in the corner of McCree’s room, sharing a bottle of strong alcohol that was even more ancient than the record player. A kind of bamboo alcohol that Hanzo picked up in Taiwan from a collector that owed her life to Hanzo.

 

It was a smooth beauty. McCree sighed when it ran hot down his throat. The next sip he savored on his tongue before swallowing.

 

He raised his eyes to see Hanzo staring, with his glass untouched. Hanzo caught his eyes and threw back his glass.

 

“Do you want to pick a record?” Hanzo asked, pushing the pile toward McCree.

 

McCree picked one. It was by someone he used to listen to but never really connected to. The singer’s deep, gravel voice trembled out of the record player. Hanzo gazed at the spinning record for a moment.

 

 _“_ _Love is a burning thing  
And it makes a firery ring_ _…_ _”_

McCree asked Hanzo about the mission. Hanzo chuckled and told the incident where an enemy tried to sneak up behind Angela and got shot simultaneously by every member of the team, including Angela herself. McCree threw his head back and laughed.

_“Bound by wild desire  
I fell into a ring of fire_…”

 

McCree poured Hanzo another glass, his hands wobbled. The alcohol was stronger than both of them thought. Hanzo snorted and licked the spill off of his fingers.

 

_“I fell into a burning ring of fire_   
_I went down, down, down_   
_And the flames went higher_   
_And it burns, burns, burns…”_

McCree turned on the air conditioner when the room got hotter. Hanzo opened the drapes. It was nearing midnight, long before either of them wanted to call it a night. McCree titled his head and smiled at Hanzo.

 

_“…The ring of fire_   
_The ring of fire_   
_I fell into a burning ring of fire_   
_I went down, down, down_   
_And the flames went higher_   
_And it burns, burns, burns…”_

The room just kept getting hotter, and Hanzo’s flush was getting out of control. McCree’s body felt too close to him when there was a telltale tension of heat filling the space between them. McCree ducked his head when Hanzo let out an involuntarily loud sigh.

 

“Play it again,” McCree murmured. Hanzo reached behind blindly and pressed the replay button. McCree’s arms pulled Hanzo back as soon as the song start again. His tongue parted Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo felt puffed up, daring, like he just shot six men in a blink of the eye when McCree crawled into his lap and titled Hanzo’s face up so their lips could slot together perfectly.

 

They kissed for a long time. Maybe, or maybe not. The same song was still playing, so did they just kissed until it came back or did one second of their kiss just felt like a whole album of songs? Hanzo gripped McCree’s hips. McCree’s tongue traced Hanzo’s cupid’s bow, leaving a trail of sloppy wet behind but Hanzo couldn’t help but moan from it. The room was burning. Their skin felt like fire, licking at each other, and the lack of oxygen during their kiss did not slow heat down by any means.

 

McCree pinned Hanzo to the mattress. Hanzo pinned McCree to himself. The song was still playing. Their kiss continued.

 

 _“The ring of fire_   
_The ring of fire_  
 _The ring... ”_


	68. A Promise

“Why are the caterers not calling back?!”

 

“Because you left them sixteen messages in two hours. They probably blocked you.”

 

Lena blinked to Hanzo and gripped the front of his shirt. She had to tiptoe slightly to get the effect of a person threatening another, but the crazed look in her eyes did it for her.

 

“Listen here, Shimada,” Lena said. “My wedding is in three days and I don’t have a confirmation from my caterers, tell me I’m overreacting, am I? Am I? Or are you expecting me to cook for over two hundred people myself when I burnt my butter this morning making toast? Huh, Shimada?”

 

Hanzo picked Lena up by the arm and sat her down on one of the Barcalounger. Lúcio was right at her side, handing her a glass of iced tea while the woman gasped for breath.

 

“Hanzo,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t – ”

 

“It is all right, Lena.” Hanzo held a palm up. “The reason they’re not calling you back is that they did block your number, but also because I had talked to them already this morning and settled everything. There will be two hundred and ten meals, half of it vegetarian, and the pork had been changed to salmon, like Emily’s mother wanted.”

 

Lena looked as though she was about to burst into tears and hug Hanzo. She only did the latter. That was how McCree found them two minutes later, with Lena koala-hugging Hanzo while the man looked like he had a bullet lodged at his side.

 

“Help me,” Hanzo mouthed at McCree. McCree grinned. Not before he took a picture.

 

“Lena, darling, Emily is looking for you.” McCree sent the picture to Emily and Genji, just for shits and giggles and definitely because he knew those two would send it to everyone. That way every agent would still see the pictures and the faults wouldn’t be on McCree’s hands, sparing him a scolding by the end of the day.

 

Lena finally let go of Hanzo and wobbled to the door accompanied by Lúcio. Her movement was unusually weak and slow for her, but McCree supposed wedding planning did that to a person.

 

Hanzo sighed, and this time it was him who fell into another man’s embrace. McCree guided Hanzo’s head to his shoulder and let the man rested there.

 

Only for a moment – not a minute later, their comms were vibrating violently with another wedding emergency.

 

The last three days melted together into one long day for the agents of Overwatch. No one remembered what sleeping felt like, nor did they have any memories of them falling into bed. And it was ironic how long the planning took compared to how short the end product was.

 

But it was worth it, seeing the two women vowing their lives to one another. It didn’t matter how short the ceremony was, they were going to be with each other for the rest of their lives.

 

“Sap,” Hanzo chuckled.

 

“You think so?” McCree grinned at him. “Probably just feeling sentimental, seeing Lena get married.”

 

The lawn outside the church was quiet at this time. Everyone was inside, getting ready for the cakes the dances the champagnes and the photos. They sneaked away from all of the noises. Solidarity was never their strong suit.

 

McCree passed his smoke to Hanzo. Hanzo inhaled deeply, passed it back. McCree didn’t take it.

 

“I might be feeling sentimental from the wedding,” McCree said, leaning on the railing with his arms, looking down at the grass. Hanzo frowned.

 

“Are you going to suddenly wax poetry about the joy of love?” Hanzo said. “I think we are too old – ”

 

“Marry me,” McCree said.

 

The cigarillo dropped between Hanzo’s fingers.

 

“What?” Hanzo replied.

 

“I know it’s probably a damn cliché, asking this at a wedding,” McCree said. “But, gosh, sweetheart, I just – this old heart inside me, the half that belongs to you is telling me to just do whatever the hell I want, and I want to marry you, Hanzo.”

 

Hanzo stared at McCree, and for all the years they’ve been together, he thought he never saw McCree this raw. He wanted to see more of it. He wanted all of him.

 

Hanzo let the cigarillo fell from his fingers and stubbed it out. McCree was ready when Hanzo moved to kiss him. Hanzo’s palm pressed against McCree’s cheeks, feeling the flush.

 

“I don’t think we should tell anyone yet,” McCree murmured into Hanzo’s lips. “It’s their day.”

 

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” Hanzo murmured back. “We are making this promise to us, not anyone else.”

 

McCree caressed Hanzo’s lips with his own before pressing in again.

 

The church bell rang, cheers rang out mutely from the other side of the concrete wall, unaware of another oath in motion in the silence of an absent wedding. Hanzo and McCree exchanged their promise, unheard by any other soul, unneeded to.

 

They only ever needed each other.  

 


	69. A Reunion Kiss

He cleaned the room already. Tables wiped. Fresh bedsheets. Windows opened. A vase of belladonna, white oleander and ragwort sat on their windowsill, courtesy of Angela. A pot of tea, ready and kept warm by his side. Hanzo’s favorite tea.

 

McCree sat on their small loveseat, reading the mission report that just been sent back. Twenty-two kills in under fifteen minutes for his sweetheart, however morbid, McCree smiled at that.

 

A click came from behind him, then the thud of bags dropped. McCree sat the report down just in time to greet Hanzo, sinking into his side.

 

Hanzo let out a bone-deep sigh. His head pillowed on McCree’s chest. McCree remembered him doing the same thing to Hanzo when he returned from a long mission.

 

“Welcome home,” McCree said, draping his arm across Hanzo’s shoulders and drawing him in.

 

“I was afraid I might stab someone if this mission went on any longer,” Hanzo murmured. “I didn’t sleep well.”

 

McCree could tell from the dark circles. He caressed them. Hanzo reached up, took Jesse’s reading glasses away and set it aside.

 

He then straightened up, cupped McCree’s face gently. The warmth from Hanzo’s palms was ineffable, and McCree regretted living a life where he knew no soft words to describe the way Hanzo made him feel. McCree turned his face to kiss Hanzo’s palms. Once, twice.

 

“I missed you,” McCree whispered into Hanzo’s hand. His eyes closing.

 

McCree felt the hands on his cheeks raising his face. A pair of lips pressed against his, and McCree could founder in the mansuetude that took over him.

 

Hanzo breathed. He kissed Jesse like a prayer. “I’m home.”  

 


	70. Cuddling & Tired Kiss

Hanzo was noticing something quite scary, quite unimaginable. Something quite lost to other agents, because no one seemed to remark on it, to the point where Hanzo had to solidify his suspicion with video evidence he got from security cameras.

 

McCree was a cuddler.

 

That boggled Hanzo’s mind more than anything else in the world. Jesse McCree, a man whose enemies rivaled with Hanzo in both numbers and trouble. A man who once shot ten men with six bullets, all through the left eye. A man who scowled more than Hanzo himself when days were particularly vicious for him. McCree, _cuddling_.

 

The image created an ineffable tightness in his chest, with a tincture of anger, brewing at the back of his mind. Hanzo was never good at articulating his true feelings, mostly due to the fact he did not know his own feelings that well to begin with at all. So whenever Hanzo sees McCree – dozing wherever, his body gravitating to whoever was the closest, muscle lax and ready to sink into the comfort of leaning on another person – Hanzo gets heated, for _whatever reason._

 

But what drew his mind on the subject even further was how McCree never went through with cuddling. Every time he began to fall toward someone (and he always does), as soon as a hair on his body, or a fabric of his clothes touched someone, McCree snapped awake, cautiously and consciously leaning away, and away more from other people.

 

_Compensating his personal space_ , Hanzo thought while he sneaked glances to McCree while he pretending to read on their way back after a mission. _It was in his nature to be with people, but in his training to be apart from them._

Hanzo doodled walls of Campsis on the margin of his book, clinging to the words, their blossoms faced toward the sky.

 

McCree lifted his face, fell asleep once again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Twelve rounds in an hour? You trying to compete for the Olympic or somethin’?”

 

Hanzo scoffed. His muscles shook from exertions. McCree handed him a bottle of water and a towel.

 

“Did you not just return from the gym after being in there for three hours? It’s not healthy to do so.”

 

McCree chuckled, lighting up a cigarillo, giving it to Hanzo first. “I think I gave up on that a long time ago.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

 

“For some reason.”

 

“We could make coffee.”

 

“And survive until the morning briefing?”

 

Hanzo let out a low laugh. “If you wish.”

 

McCree held the door open for Hanzo. “Lead the way.”

 

If Hanzo was hoping for McCree to fall asleep next to him, no one, perhaps not even himself, knew.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You need to sit up.”

 

“Does it look like I can?” McCree grunted through the pain.

 

“Mercy will be here momentarily.”

 

“I guess I’ll just have to bleed until she gets here.”

 

Hanzo, ignoring McCree’s vigorous protest, pulled him into a sitting position with his back against Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo pressed his palm to McCree’s hand, putting more pressure on the bleeding wound, checking in with Mercy with McCree still cursing in the background.

 

When she came, she frowned at them, mumbling about more blood than she anticipated, how Hanzo should not have aggravated the wound.

 

Hanzo let Mercy took McCree from him, heart enervated from melancholy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On the transport back, McCree sat down next to Hanzo. He was looking out the window tiredly but turned his gaze to McCree as the man pulled his hat over his face.

 

Hanzo turned his gaze back.

 

Thirty-minutes into the flight, Hanzo felt McCree sway beside him. Hanzo kept his eyes on the black clouds. McCree’s hat fell off.

 

His head touched Hanzo’s shoulder, and he let out a snore.

 

Hanzo sat, petrified, unable to move, unwilling to turn and look at the man. McCree did something Hanzo never witnessed before, the next evolvement to something Hanzo desperately wanted to see but instead was experiencing – McCree pressed his nose to Hanzo’s neck, his arms winding their way around Hanzo’s waist, locking him in.

 

McCree let out a sigh, ghosting past Hanzo’s chin.

 

Hanzo carefully cautiously and consciously relaxed his body, allowing McCree to sink in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When McCree woke up, the transport was still dark.

 

He yawned into the crook of Hanzo’s neck, nuzzling tiredly. He felt Hanzo shift above him.

 

“How long till we land?” McCree murmured.

 

“We already did,” Hanzo replied groggily.

 

McCree snapped his head up. Outside the window was the docking area. The sun was setting near the west, coating everything in orange and red. Hanzo’s closed eyelid looked pink.

 

McCree tore his eyes away from Hanzo. “Why are we still here?”

 

“Angela said to let you rest.”

 

McCree pulled away, his bones cracking. He groaned at the unpleasant reminder of age. “You should have woken me up.”

 

A hand closed around McCree’s wrist and pulled him back. He fell back into the seat with a slight “Oof!” Hanzo pushed up the armrest between them and pressed his face into McCree’s shoulder.

 

McCree sat very, very still.

 

Hanzo let out a sigh. “Let us rest.”

 

“Gosh,” McCree replied. “All right.”

 

 Hanzo pressed his nose to McCree’s chin. McCree turned, curiously, and met a pair of tired lips.

 

They languorously kissed in the dark transport, with sunlight pouring in from the little opening, coating them in lights they did not care to notice. McCree cupped Hanzo’s face, gently pulling him closer. Hanzo tilted his head slowly to better kiss him.

 

After moments, Hanzo slid away from the kiss and into McCree’s embrace. McCree rested his cheek on Hanzo’s crown. They wrapped around one another, in their cramp seat, with the little opening of sunlight blanketing them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Campsis (Trumpet VInes): "...You'll love this vine for its blooms, they attract hummingbirds, and it's versatility (it can grow in sun, shade, and survive hot, cold, and even drought conditions)..."
> 
> [Source](https://www.countryliving.com/gardening/garden-ideas/advice/g1456/fast-growing-vines/?slide=2)
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://cibeeeeee.tumblr.com/) and/or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spiciestcibee?lang=zh-tw)


	71. Caught in a Storm & Seeking Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shelter is not always a place

“When was the last time you were alone?”

 

Hanzo peered at McCree from his bed. The back of McCree’s head was all he could see. The man sat on the floor beside the bed, writing something on an old fashion notebook with a wooden pencil (A gift from Hanzo). The question came out of nowhere.

 

Hanzo slowly lay back down. “We are alone now.”

 

McCree’s lack of response spoke clearly of his disagreement. He did not press the subject, but Hanzo latched onto the question unwillingly. They were alone now. They were alone most of the time –

 

Someone rushed past their door, causing the old hallway to echo. The noise steeped into McCree’s room.

 

Hanzo willed his body to still. He heard the forever-there rumble from Torbjörn’s workshop that Hanzo had long learned to ignore perfectly. Another sound, of something exploding in the distance. And right by Hanzo’s ear: the droning of Athena’s presence.

 

Hanzo flipped a page in his book. “I do not recall.”

 

McCree did not reply.

 

He climbed into bed with Hanzo, burying his face into Hanzo’s shoulder, pulling the blanket over his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Are you sure old blankets found in an abandoned church is safe?”

 

“Safer than freezing in the middle of nowhere,” McCree threw the bundle to Hanzo, who caught it with a grunt, cursing Norway under his breath.

 

“Don’t blame the country.” McCree sat down next to Hanzo on one of the more stable choir benches (after Hanzo wiped it best he could). Hanzo draped half of the blanket over McCree. They shuddered simultaneously, their breath drifting off into the dark in ghost-like puffs. The rain pelted the glass window and more dully on the wooden structure. They could not find any lights or candles, although they did not look for any with more than a half-assed attitude.

 

McCree let out a shuddering laugh, curling into a ball on the bench. Hanzo cupped McCree’s neck, guiding him to lie in the crook of his neck. McCree wrapped his arms around Hanzo.

 

The rain raged around them. Hanzo couldn’t hear anything but raindrops and McCree’s heartbeat. Maybe a gush of wind through the cracks. Maybe branches hitting the church. Maybe a few notes and clicks from the piano they pushed against the doors to keep them shut. McCree’s arms tightened around Hanzo, and Hanzo knew he realized it too.

 

For the first time in a long time, they were utterly, blissfully, alone.

 

“Rules require us to check in if we are in need of assistance,” McCree murmured, almost lost to the storm.

 

Hanzo pressed his ear to McCree’s crown and listened to the silence. “We will do so… when we are.”

 

 


	72. A Hope We Don't Get Caught Kiss

“We need more rice,” Hanzo yelled, knowing Jesse would be able to hear him through the hole in their ceiling. He poured the last one and a half cup into a pot and started washing. Jesse replied with grunting, but Hanzo presumed they were aimed at the task of fixing the crack in their house, and not Hanzo’s words. The hole was a big one, came from when the neighbor’s goat fell through and into the house yesterday, scaring the living shit out of the both of them mid-dinner.

 

“I’m going to kill our neighbors,” Jesse poked his head into the house to say before disappearing again.

 

“Are you sure you do not need any help?” Hanzo said.

 

Jesse’s voice came back in. “No, you fixed it last time. It’s my turn.”

 

Hanzo glanced out the window. The Sahara Desert during early morning was a rare sight, though they both preferred sunset. From afar, Hanzo could see the roaring of a usual storm coming in. If they did not get the hole fixed before it reached them, they would have to suffer through weeks of sandy furniture and food and essentially just sands anywhere you wouldn’t want sands to go. Last time Hanzo nearly punched through the wall because he was still finding sands clogging up weapons after three weeks of thorough cleaning.

 

Hanzo went outside and climbed onto the roof. Some Sahrawi kids poked their heads out from their homes, watching and giggling at both men with their big beautiful eyes that held the glint of happy mischiefs from a prank well-done. Jesse grumbled.

 

“I can never catch them letting the goat loose on our house,” he said.

 

“To be fair, they let the goats loose on everyone’s house.” Hanzo handed Jesse another plank.

 

Jesse’s cowboy hat looked so right yet at the same time out of place with the desert all around him. This desert was nothing like the ones in the American South. It was much quieter in the sense of emptiness, louder in the sense of the unending winds. It stretched to the edge of their peripheral. And even though he never said so, Hanzo suspected Jesse enjoyed Sahara more than his old desert back home.  

 

With Hanzo’s help, they finished the repair way before the storm reached them. They escaped back into the little heaven they built together, closed all the windows and doors, waiting for the storm to engulf them.

 

Jesse picked up the pot, looked into it, turned to Hanzo. “We need more rice.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Laayoune used to be so far away from them, before they scrambled enough money to get a jeep. That was the time when however deep their love for the red desert was, the hours of walk from their home into town was marred with biting sand and sun, and the way back home would become so much worse after they bought all the stuff they needed. That was the time when Hanzo considered using the money they had in the bank (for emergency). The proposal was thrown into the abyss of the endless darkness that was night in the Sahara. McCree insisted on saving up like normal people did, though Hanzo wondered if Jesse was afraid that it meant their friends could track them down with the money before he was ready to leave. Their phones and comms deposited in the bank also, turned off, mutely allowing them to be selfish for just a little longer.  

 

Now, with the jeep always by their house, the desert seemed closer to civilization yet further to nothingness. Often, they would find themselves driving straight into the edge of countless dunes after their supply run instead of going home, purposely get lost, decide on a whim to stay out in the freezing cold and gaze at the canopy that stretched to the horizon and joined seamlessly with the night sands that reached back to where Hanzo and McCree lay on the sandy red serape. Enveloping them in the comforting silence of knowing they were the only ones around for hundreds of miles.

 

Other times, they dutifully drove back into their house after their supply run, putting everything in place.

 

It was a luxury they didn’t know they craved.

 

It was something they knew they had to give up one day.

 

But for now, as they drove away from Laayoune with cement and rice and woods and oils in the truck, they both looked to the dunes, back at each other.

 

With a turn, Hanzo drove the jeep off the main road, and Jesse rolled down the window, breathing in the sweltering air.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Five months ago, Jesse McCree cut off all communication with Overwatch and ran. Until he knew he couldn’t be found.

 

Four and a half month ago, Hanzo Shimada showed up on McCree’s doorstep, with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, the weapon he was carrying, and a laundry bag, filled with cash.

 

They put the cash in the bank, and Hanzo joined Jesse with just his person.

 

For the months they were together, they pretended their only existences was in the boundless confines of the Sahara Desert.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They knew it was time for them to leave when they both admitted one quiet night they wanted to stay forever.

 

Jesse sat on the back of the house. Above him was the window to the kitchen, where Hanzo leaned on the windowsill, sharing a cigarette with Jesse. They stared at the sunset, like a giant’s eye closing, laying itself to rest into the enormity that was the desert. Afar, a single wisp of smoke drifted into the air, curving and straightening in the glow of the sun. It could be from a Tuareg family, it could be city folks out having fun, it could be a mirage.

 

It could also just be the smoke coming from their cigarette, as they look at the sunset.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Leaving wasn’t as easy as people think. They needed to talk to their landlord about the house, answer questions from the kids, say farewell to the Spanish and Arabic resident in town. Hanzo’s Spanish was still not as fluent, but enough for people to like him. Jesse talked like he belonged, and even picked up some simple Arabic and local dialect. They said goodbyes to the polices, the mail workers, the shop keeps, the lady who kept the only bathhouse in town.

 

Their last stop was to the court, a young lawyer they made acquaintances in their time here sat outside of the office, gloomy.

 

“Why are you upset?” Hanzo asked. The young man looked up at them.

 

“I spend so much time getting all the documents ready for a couple who was getting married here in two weeks, but they called off the marriage. The madam was angry at something.” He slumped sadly. “It was my first time taking care of something and it didn’t even go through. Who knows when the next case will come. We are in the middle of nowhere.”

 

Jesse and Hanzo stood in front of him, hands gripped tightly around each other.

 

“Why don’t you marry us,” Jesse said.

 

The young man looked up at them ludicrously. “What?”

 

“We are leaving in a few weeks, you still have time to get our documents ready, will you not?” Hanzo asked.

 

“You…you want to get married here?”

 

Hanzo and Jesse looked at each other, then pointedly back at the man.

 

His eyes lit up. “Yes, yes. It might work! Birth certificates, single status certificate, court date…I’ll have to find a translator to translate both your documents into Spanish and Arabic…” He looked to Jesse and Hanzo. “Do you two have a date in mind?”

 

Jesse gave it a thought, looked to Hanzo. Hanzo shrugged, so Jesse replied, “Faster the better.”

 

The young man sprung to his feet, rejuvenated, thanked them and ran back into the office, eager to start work.

 

“As soon as he starts on those documents, Athena will be alerted,” Jesse said, draping his arm across Hanzo’s shoulder.

 

“Let us hope we finish before we are caught.” Hanzo reached up to tangle his hand with Jesse’s.

 

 

* * *

 

 

One day, out of the blue, a neighbor’s kid came pounding on the door, waking the two up long before they intended to. When the kid got no response from their resident outsiders, he ran to the back of the house where their bedroom window was and started pounding on that instead.

 

Jesse slammed open the window. “Boy, I swear to God – ”

 

“You’re getting married! Married! Today, today!” The boy yelled in fragmented Spanish. McCree’s eyes widened, blindly reaching for Hanzo to wake the man up.

 

Hanzo’s hair was a horrifying mess to look at in the morning. The boy jumped away from the window when Hanzo appeared.

 

“It’s at noon.” Then the boy ran away

 

“Did he said we were getting married today?” Hanzo groggily asked.

 

“I thought we would have at least one-day notice,” Jesse said.

 

Apparently, they did. The court sent someone to notify them yesterday, but when no one answered the door, the messenger left the news to a gathering of local wives, who then consequently told everyone in the neighborhood but forgot to tell the two people that were actually getting married.

 

Hanzo and McCree sat on their bed, suddenly dumbfounded.

 

“What are we going to wear?” Hanzo asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Jesse replied. “What we wear every day.”

 

Then they sprung out of bed.

 

By the time they finish throwing on some clothes, Jesse went ahead to start the jeep while Hanzo locked up the house. When Hanzo went to meet him by the car, Jesse was still sitting with the door open, turning the keys.

 

He turned around, wide eyes. “It’s not starting.”

 

Hanzo kicked the car. It didn’t work.

 

Sweat was dripping down their faces from standing out in the heat. But the car wasn’t starting, and they were the only ones with a car in this area.

 

Jesse jumped down from the jeep, grabbed Hanzo’s hand, and they started out into the desert.

 

They held tightly onto each other’s hands, pulled and dragged in the wind, feet sank into the sands, and they held tightly onto each other, like anchors on rocks. 

 

It was an almost two hours walk to town. By the time they got there, sweat had soaked through their shirt, and they panted as they stumbled to the courthouse.

 

Someone yelled. “They’re here! They’re here!” And before they even had a chance of wiping the sweat off, they were swept into a room filled with local acquaintances they made during their time here, all nicely dressed, making the two looked like tourists who accidentally wandered into a proceeding ceremony.

 

The young lawyer led them to the front, proudly. The judge took a look at the grooms: sweaty, slightly dazed, and very much in a state of shock and poorly dressed for their wedding day, she only sighed once.

 

She began. They turned to look at each other. A bead of sweat rolled down and disappeared in McCree’s beard. Hanzo’s hair was messy from the heat and humidity. They didn’t have rings, nor friends and family present. They didn’t have vows prepared. Hell, they didn’t even know they were getting married on that day.

 

But when was the last time they did things normally. Seven years of knowing one another, not once did they follow normality. It was this mutual pursuit of the irrational that became the overture to a relationship no one but themselves could sink so deeply into, that made McCree ran just because, and made Hanzo followed just because.

 

When the judge asked if McCree would take Hanzo as his husband, he snapped out of his daze and said, a little too loudly, “Yes!” enlisting a murmur of laughter in the room.

 

Judge asked the question again, directed at Hanzo. “Yes,” he said, his hands trembled as he held onto Jesse’s hand.

 

The judge asked them to exchange rings. They smiled and shook their heads. She sighed.

 

“I suppose you two didn’t forget your lips,” she said. “You may now kiss.”

 

They sank into each other, slowly, tasting of sweat and sand and the desert. They kissed for longer than necessary, because they knew a military jet will be waiting outside for them with angry families and teary friends on board. For now, before caught, let them kiss, and say farewell to this little heaven they managed to fall into.

 


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't from a prompt, just a short thing I wrote, thought I put it in anyway so it doesn't get lost in the void that is tumblr

“I’m pissed because you weren’t planning on telling me you’re in love.”

 

Hanzo bristled. “What?! I am not in love.”

 

“Don’t insult me, brother. This is my forte,” Genji retorted. "Human relationship, that is. Love is just something that comes up frequently enough.”

 

"Do not be childish.”

 

“It’s so obvious. You must know-“

 

Genji stopped. His face softened into pity. Hanzo felt his nostrils flared with anger at that look.

 

“Oh, Hanzo.”

 

Hanzo turned on his heels. “I am not in love with McCree. Speak to me only after you are mature enough to stay out of my business.”

 

Genji’s eyes stayed on Hanzo, and he resolved to not have the last word of telling Hanzo he never mentioned it was McCree.


	74. Chapter 74

“I did something and I’m not rightly sure you’ll take a liking to it.”

 

“Do I have to start asking agents to keep an eye on you when we’re not on the same mission?” Hanzo sighed, because McCree actually sounded hesitant when he approached Hanzo. And he wondered what could McCree possibly do to make him so reserved, especially when Hanzo greeted him at the loading docks, McCree appeared to be more joyful than usual.

 

McCree crossed his arms, lips twisting, trying to find the right words. “Well, I…saw something, and well…”

 

Hanzo’s heart sank as he watched McCree struggling to find words. Jesse McCree, the outlaw who once got the CEO of a big, shady company to block his “Joel Morricone” persona on social media after McCree drilled him into speechlessness in regards to violation of the Unfair Trading Act; Jesse McCree, who could use the four-letter word and a four-syllable word in the same sentence to extract information from thugs to aristocrat, rendered speechless.

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo said. “What did you do?”

 

“It was an impulse decision,” McCree replied hastily. “I like it, but I ain’t sure you’ll be so keen on it.”

 

Hanzo frowned. There was nothing he could think of that McCree could do to…lessen his interest. He didn’t care about tattoos, McCree’s prosthetic looked the same, he-

 

Hanzo eyed the way McCree hugged his chests defensively, and a terrible, horrifying image crossed his mind: McCree with a clean shaven chest. Hanzo abruptly stood. McCree tensed.

 

Hanzo reached and pulled McCree’s arms out of the way, and before he could be stopped, he ripped McCree’s shirt open.

 

No buttons snapped, because Hanzo was better than that. McCree sputtered, calling Hanzo an asshole, but Hanzo barely cared. To his relief, McCree’s chests were still covered with a thick layer of hair, and it wasn’t shaved into a heart or the words “yeehaw” (as McCree jokingly suggested once).

 

Then Hanzo caught four shiny balls in the midst of hair, and his eyebrows shot up.

 

McCree put a hand to his face and groaned. “It was an impulse,” he repeated.

 

This time, it was Hanzo who was rendered speechless. He couldn’t describe the way seeing those piercings gleaming beside McCree’s nipples, how it made his stomach heat up with unexpected, subtle arousal.

 

Then he imagined wrapping his lips around them and the shimmering heat burst into full-on fire. Hanzo’s breathing hitched. And he inwardly shuddered at the way his mouth watered at the thought of doing so.

It took him awhile to realize he wasn’t doing anything but stand like a statue, and McCree was still waiting for a response.

 

Hanzo was sure his voice would tremble if he dared speak, so instead of embarrassing himself, he decided to simply pick McCree up (to which Hanzo received a yelp) and carried him to the bed.

 

McCree started moaning before he even hit the bed, though that perhaps was because Hanzo was unable to keep his mouth to himself until he dropped McCree on the bed.

 

Either way, they both discovered something that night.


	75. Chapter 75

Hanzo couldn’t help the moan that slipped past his lips when McCree pressed a palm to his pec, leaning all his weight on Hanzo, pressing him further into the couch.

 

McCree’s tongue was languid and sloppy, making a mess of Hanzo’s mouth and chin that Hanzo honestly could not care less at the moment, not when alcohol numbed his skin pleasantly and McCree’s body heat shielding him away from the cold December air. Despite the low temperature in the common room, the only thing biting at him was McCree.

 

Hanzo moaned again, and regretted getting drunker than McCree because he was sorely aware of how he was at McCree’s mercy like this. He wanted to make McCree groan and moan and shudder like he was making Hanzo - but the frantic lips against his made Hanzo’s mind a puddle. McCree was woefully silent, while Hanzo could barely keep his eyes from rolling back.

 

McCree pressed in even more. His hips flush against Hanzo’s groin. Hanzo frowned despite everything, it seemed the man was doing everything in his power to keep Hanzo a moaning, immobile mess, and he berated himself for the lack of resistance to that idea -

 

Someone was in the room with them. McCree and Hanzo sprung apart, each grabbing whatever weapon they were carrying on them. A compact pistol and a revolver pointed at whoever sneaked into the room.

 

Then Hanzo and McCree found themselves staring at a readied spray bottle.

 

“You two are disgusting,” Genji said. “I come back from a long mission, and get assaulted by this.”

 

“Genji, I swear to God,” McCree said, not lowering his gun.

 

“I will shoot you if you spray me,” Hanzo said, also not lowering his gun.

 

For a moment, Genji’s hands seemed to move. They let out a breath, before realizing too late that the movement came from Genji putting his finger on the trigger.

 

“You both have rooms, fucking use it.”

 

McCree and Hanzo barely had time to close their eyes before the water hit their faces.

 


	76. Chapter 76

McCree came back to noises in the room. 

 

It seemed even though McCree asked Hanzo to not wait for his meeting to finish - just go straight to sleep after he returned from his mission, Hanzo didn’t listen. Not saying that was the strange part, usually Hanzo was too wound up to rest immediately anyway.

 

No, the strange part was the faint murmurs McCree could hear coming from the other side. It didn’t sound like television. There was only one voice, and McCree would recognize Hanzo’s anywhere. It didn’t sound like he was on the phone. It sounded too cheerful. It sounded off. 

 

Then McCree heard  _giggles_. 

 

“What the fuck,” McCree whispered. That definitely ain’t right. 

 

He punched in his override code and turned on the speakers that were wired into every agent’s room. This was  _his_ room, and he wanted to know  _what_ the hell was going on in there.

 

The speaker buzzed a bit from disuse before finally functioning. Hanzo’s voice came clearly now, but now it had taken on an exasperated tone. An exasperated, but fond, tone.

 

“Don’t lick me, it’s dirty,” Hanzo’s voice said.

 

And for a moment McCree thought he was going to pass out like in one of those old, cheesy soap opera Reyes used to watch, because there was no way in hell he just heard Hanzo said that to someone but  _McCree_.

 

Just as McCree recovered from his daze, Hanzo’s voice came through again, “you really are a licker - ”

 

McCree slammed the door open, he was going to kill whoever this licker was and then punch Hanzo in the face. The door swung open just in time for McCree to see Hanzo kissing -

 

\- a kitten.

 

Hanzo looked more surprised than he did when McCree first asked him out. In his hand, the kitten twisted their head to stare at McCree with wide, green eyes in the midst of spiky black fur. The cat meowed a bone-meltingly sweet sound, and instantly Hanzo’s attention was drawn back.

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo stood up, walking to McCree and holding out the small kitten. “Meet Collen.”

 

Collen meowed again. McCree took it from Hanzo with uncertain hands.

 

“That’s a weird name for a cat,” McCree said, and almost jumped when he felt the cat’s rough tongue glide across his skin. Collen kept licking until McCree’s right hand was covered in cat spit, then moved onto the left hand. McCree raised his arms and looked between the cat’s legs. “You know its a girl right.”

 

Hanzo shrugged. “What’s in a name?” he said. “I found her behind ‘Collen’s bakery’ The human Collen was not very happy with her being there, so I took her.” 

 

“For good?” McCree asked.

 

“If you’ll indulge me,” Hanzo said.

 

Collen meowed again. 

 

McCree couldn’t help it - he kissed her right on the nose. 

 


	77. halcyon (night)

“You could drift off and no one would find you, you know.”

 

By the way McCree said it, it was not the first time he said it, but Hanzo’s ears were underwater, lolled by the absence of noises other than waves, and it was only when McCree came close enough did Hanzo hear the words muffled, faint through the water.

 

Hanzo sat up, not before dipping his hair back in and smoothing the strands out. McCree let out a faint, rushed breath.

 

The water only came up to his chest sitting down; shin standing up. He would have to go out a lot farther to reach the deeper parts, but that was not wise during nighttime. Athena may not be able to alert agents in time if Hanzo got carried away by the waves, nor did he ever want to be the subject to a rescue from _floating away_.

 

Though it was unlikely. There was a rock by Hanzo’s feet. As he lay in the darkness, with no way of knowing if he was drifting further and further from the coast, his sinking feet would brush against it; his toes lightly graze past the rough and sharp surface, allowing him to know he was still there.

 

Hanzo could barely see McCree standing in the dark. Neither the moonlight nor the lights from the base were luminous enough for him to depict his surroundings. But he could see McCree’s legs next to him, with the moon reflecting a shaky, el-like strip on the water. McCree was wearing his usual long jeans, with the pant legs sloppily rolled up; the one on the right was unfolding and dropping, the one on the left wasn’t even high enough to avoid water in the first place.

 

Hanzo blinked at him, eyes stinging slightly from the salt. McCree’s face wasn’t visible.

 

“Is there something wrong?” Hanzo asked.

 

“No."

 

“Is my presence required by someone?”

 

McCree gave a strange chuckle. “I suppose not.”

 

“Then is there a reason for you to be here?”

 

“The reason is me looking at the surveillance camera and seeing a body floating out in the ocean at this ungodly hour, and came to check when I found out it was one of our agents.”

 

Hanzo shifted in the water, a stream of cool water ran past before warm water settled in again. Hanzo was still sitting, as he intended on resuming his staring at the sky soon. McCree was still standing, which Hanzo took to mean he would be leaving soon.

 

“I reported to Athena before I left,” Hanzo said with an uncertain tone that was only obvious to himself.

 

McCree shifted too, sending another cool rush to Hanzo. “Jesus, you didn’t say what you were doing.”

 

“I was not doing anything,” Hanzo said tersely.

 

“Well, I had no way of knowing that, would I?” McCree snapped back.

 

Hanzo’s brows furrowed in realization. The hastily rolled up pants. The absent of cowboy hat. The slight tremors in McCree’s voice.

 

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Hanzo said slowly.

 

McCree turned away. “I had no way of knowing that.”

 

They remained there, in a stalemate, neither moved. The waves gently cajoled them with soft tugs and those distant, pulling sounds from beyond where their eyes could see. But they panted themselves right next to each other.

 

“I’m going to smoke on the beach,” McCree suddenly said, and started to make his way back, already pulling out a pack of cigarillos and a lighter.

 

Hanzo raised his face to look at the sky. The stars were sparsely dotting the void. Hanzo still wanted to stay.

 

He looked back. McCree had settled on the sand, sitting and facing the ocean. Other than the familiar silhouette, there was another familiar flickering light amid, and a thin drift of smoke. McCree was watching him.

 

Hanzo lay back down. The ocean once again drowned out everything, filling his ears with waves and occasional splashing and that distinct emptiness only available when you put your head under water. He finally relaxed fully. His feet brush past the now useless rock.

 


	78. I love you: With a shuddering gasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took this prompt very loosely, in a way it didn’t happen at all. 
> 
> What if Hanzo didn’t want to be in love?

“We are supposed to be meditating,” Genji said.

 

“I am supposed to be sleeping,” Hanzo replied tersely. Genji snorted.

 

“I did not take you for one that relaxes at all.”

 

“Sleep is not used for relaxation. It is for restoration, which I will not get if I am forced to wake up at three in the morning.”

 

“Forgive me for not realizing your rigorous beauty sleep schedule, brother, as my image of you remained stagnant from when you still trained and studied until five a.m., sleep for an hour, then wake up for more training and studying.” Genji’s eyes flickered to him before returning to the sea in front of him. “In any case, we are here now.”

 

_Indeed we are_ , Hanzo thought bitterly. And it only took him talking to Genji for mere minutes to reach supreme self-contempt. But Genji did not mean for that effect with his words, it came built-in from the very moment of Hanzo’s betrayal; only the person most likely to trigger this contempt was assumed deceased until one year ago.

 

One year ago, and this was the first time Hanzo took up on Genji’s offer to meditate together. Also the first time Hanzo found out how drastically Genji’s habit changed. For some unknown and uncomfortable reason, Hanzo unconsciously assumed Genji kept the routine of meditating during five to seven p.m., the same as when they were boys; the same hours Hanzo kept to until today.

 

Hanzo closed his eyes, frowned, tried not to think about the implications.

 

“Do you need me to guide you through – ”

 

“I think I will manage,” Hanzo said, his eyes kept shut by his tight frown.

 

Genji murmured under his breath.

 

Hanzo snapped at him. “Did you say ‘baby steps’?”

 

“You hear whatever you want to hear, brother,” Genji replied calmly, and Hanzo wondered if he was intentionally contrasting to Hanzo’s outburst.

 

Hanzo closed his eyes. Counted his breaths from one to fifteen, then repeat, suddenly aware that this was also the way his clan taught him, and his breathing became irregular once more. Beside him, Genji was immobile, concentrated like a statue.

 

It used to be the opposite.

 

Hanzo did not have time to spiral into another outburst when footsteps were heard coming from around the corner, drawing Genji out. Hanzo pretended the noises were what terminated his meditation as well.

 

A dark and large figure turned the corner and stopped at the sight of them. The motion sensor lights did not announce the person since Athena disabled it for their session, but Hanzo recognized him immediately.

 

However, Genji spoke first. “Ah, Jesse. Why are you up so early?”

 

“Technically, didn’ sleep yet,” McCree replied and stepped into the moonlight, perhaps so they could see him, because he was _polite_.

 

Hanzo remained silent.

 

McCree leaned on the railing separating him from a certain death. “Am I interrupting? I was gonna smoke. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

He was addressing Genji. Hanzo lowered his gaze.

 

Genji sighed. “No, you are not interrupting.”

 

A stretch of silence followed. And for all the reassurance of no one interrupting anything, Hanzo felt he stuck out like a sore thumb, intruding on everything.

 

“Hanzo?”

 

Hanzo sat his eyes on McCree, who looked at him with a tired smile, waiting.

 

Hanzo waited too, unsure what McCree wanted.

 

McCree coughed, and it sounded like he was coming down with a cold. Hanzo’s throat tightened. McCree said, repeating, “I didn’t expect you here. Not your usual hide, is it?”

 

Hanzo’s nostrils flared as he discreetly sucked in a panicked breath. McCree was addressing _him_ , not Genji, and suddenly he didn’t know what sounded nonchalant. Everything that passed his mind appeared to be ridiculous – eventually he settled on –

 

“No,” Hanzo said.

 

McCree’s crooked smile seemed to implicate he accepted that answered. Hanzo was aware of perspiration forming on every available patch of skin and wished for the many-th time for McCree to be _gone_.

 

Somewhere during Hanzo’s ruminate, McCree pushed off the railing and bid them goodbye, to which Hanzo offered nothing but a slight and mechanical nod.

 

When they both knew McCree was a safe distance away, Hanzo’s body finally released itself from its confine just as Genji asked, “What was that about?”

 

“What?”

 

“When Jesse showed up, you looked like you were suffocating, or constipated.”

 

“I was only trying to get back into the meditation,” Hanzo said. “Is that not our goal here?”    

 

“You looked more like a scared rabbit burrowing back into its hide,” Genji said.

 

Hanzo bristled at the comparison. “You are trying to insult me.”

 

“I’m not. Hanzo, are you alright? You’re flushed – oh no.”

 

Hanzo did not realize the heat until the ocean wind dried his damp skin. Without McCree’s presence, his was slowly calming down, and it was only time before he returned to normal.

 

“It is nothing,” Hanzo said, and Genji groaned. “I did not want to say anything before, because I know McCree is your friend, and I gave you my words to keep peace with everyone here.”

 

Genji had his head in his hands now. “But?”

 

Hanzo chose his words. “McCree makes me….”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Uncomfortable.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“I cannot stand being in the same room as him.” Hanzo sighed, his head pounding, and he dreaded the headache that might follow. “It makes me want to kill someone.”

 

_Or run away_ , Hanzo did not say, even if that was the more common reaction he got. The primal fight or flight urge surged through him every time his eyes locked with McCree’s, and it happened too many times.

 

“Hanzo….” Genji sounded incredibly dejected. And Hanzo’s instinct was to snap again.

 

“I did not wish for any animosity toward any of your companions. It just occurred.”

 

“Animosity,” Genji sluggishly raised his eyes to meet Hanzo’s. “…”

 

“What?” Hanzo asked. Since when did Genji develop the proclivity of speaking with no intention of being heard?

 

“You are being a stubborn asshole on purpose, or unconsciously. I am still deciding which is worse.”

 

Conversation with Genji slowly felt less and less unreal over the year because every time they talked, Hanzo get the urge to punch something.

 

“How can you displace affection to enmity?”

 

Hanzo stared at Genji.

 

Genji looked at Hanzo, put his index finger up by his temple, imitating bunny ears.

 

“No,” Hanzo said.

 

On the outside he seemed perfectly normal. Genji still looked at him imploringly. On the inside Hanzo had stopped functioning, dread flooded like waves crashing against the cliffs, or like one of McCree’s hollow-point bullets: penetrating small, then expanding, tearing through hearts before exploding out of the body, leaving marred tissue and a hollow hole.

 

“You seem like you need to talk.” McCree’s smile appeared behind Hanzo’s tightly squeezed eyelid. He said that to Hanzo just three days after Hanzo’s arrival to the watchpoint.

 

“No,” Hanzo had said. McCree shrugged, tipped his hat, and told Hanzo the offer will always be open.

 

And it has been, to this day. Hanzo never took up on it. At first it was simply the case of mistrust. Then during a surveillance mission, he witnessed McCree shot someone trying to sneak up on Hanzo. Hanzo noticed the intruder already, but his bow took longer to draw than McCree’s gun. The assassin came down through the vent on the ceiling and was dead before he even hit the ground, a hole between his eyes.

 

McCree was still seated when he fired. Hanzo did not even see him draw his gun, but there he sat, almost like a painting with just a slight difference. Such an infinitesimal moment, compared to the other feats McCree accomplished, but it was the first time Hanzo looked at the man and felt his throat tightened. Hanzo was unable to shake that feeling off ever since, couldn’t stand the man, set him on edge. Hanzo had met countless dangerous people in his life, _how_ was McCree different?

 

Hanzo opened his eyes. Genji had dropped the bunny act, but he still stared at Hanzo.

 

Three horrifying words appeared in his head. “No,” Hanzo said, to himself. Genji looked saddened.

 

And as the realization settled in his mind, his dread caught up to his exterior, exuded in the cowardice form of a shudder.


	79. I love you: On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://cibeeeeee.tumblr.com/) / [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spiciestcibee?lang=zh-tw)

 

McCree sat on the windowsill in the common room, body slotted in the curve, skin pressed against the sun-warmed glass. The shine gleamed in Hanzo’s eyes, but it did not bother McCree’s gauze covered right eye as he read the report from the very mission he got his injuries from. _Traumatic Iritis_. The enemy who smashed his rifle directly into McCree’s eye got an arrow straight through the temple not two seconds later. Hanzo had not bother drawing his bow, his insistence on the quality of his arrows allow it to substitute as a close-ranged weapon when he needed to. Hanzo was not ashamed to admit he always choose a more agonizing death for those who hurt someone he considered precious.

 

McCree had smile from the ground, right eye swollen shut and teeth bloodied. Fond in the midst of chaos. Hanzo stared back for a fugitive moment before taking out his ribbon and wrapping McCree up.

 

He stayed by McCree even when Angela kicked him out of the medbay. Hanzo sat outside for a whole thirteen hours. When Angela came out from the surgery, she looked better than Hanzo.

 

“His eye will be all right,” she said, then walked away to her own rest.

 

How important the eyes were for shooters. Hanzo worried for McCree’s eye like it was his own. His head dizzied at the thought of McCree losing sight, and how he would trade his own for Jesse’s recovery.

 

McCree looked up from the report and smiled at Hanzo through the aromatic mist of their caffeine-free tea. The late sunlight seeped into McCree’s hair, it made him appear to glow from within. McCree smiled at him. It must hurt his eye to do so. He did it anyway.

 

“I love you,” Hanzo said, quietly.

 

Next to them, originally focused on her own project, Satya’s hands jolted, but she said nothing. No one else in the room noticed.

 

Love was a foreign concept to Hanzo, quite literally so. He had seen westerners say it in the streets of Hanamura, in movies, in books, in interviews. “I love you.” He had never said it to anyone in his life, not even his family, nor have they to him. If someone asked, he would say he loved his mother, and he loved his brother, but he barely even thought it to himself.  
  
He loved McCree.

 

It may very well be the only time he ever thought about love without prompting.

 

It was an irrevocable, torrid ache, the very kind of warmth that originated from McCree’s beloved desert. Hanzo was not sure of this when he first realized, if it would compromise himself, but now he thought it was the least frightening matter in the world.

 

McCree’s smile never wavered. It did not diminish, nor did it grow. It retained the same loveliness as it ever did.

 

“I know, sweetheart.”

 


	80. Bali

I can’t be the only one telling drunk stories, McCree said, throwing back the last of his port. Angela would have his head if she knew how he was treating her stash. But Hanzo wanted to drink with him, and Angie’s office had the closest alcohol.

 

Hanzo hummed. I can think of one, he said, it is a story among the Shimada family. I suppose it was meant to be a warning to the rest of the family, but I always found it humorous.

 

I’d love to hear it.

 

Would you, now?

 

C’mon, do I have to trade you for it?

 

A glass of port would do.

 

McCree grinned, poured a generous amount into the mug they brought with them, and Hanzo, despite trading port for the story, still returned the gesture with his own umeshu (Before, McCree would laugh and then strangle himself for even thinking about drinking sweet, dessert wines like these. Though he did take the opportunity to throw out a cheeky line at Hanzo, saying that drinking with the archer made everything taste sweet. Hanzo rolled his eyes so hard McCree thought he was going to pull a muscle, but Hanzo also laughed really hard at that line, so McCree counted it as a success.) 

 

So, the story? McCree asked before he could get sidetracked again from Hanzo by thinking about Hanzo. Their legs tangled together on the cold concrete ground. The heels of Hanzo’s prosthesis rested on McCree’s boots.

 

Hanzo took a sip, smacked his lips. A relative got drunk one night, grabbed only their swimsuit, wallet, passport and bought a one-way ticket to Bali. They woke up on the plane, not knowing how they got there, so they ordered more alcohol, landed, went straight to the beach and sighed up for a surfing class.

 

No.

 

Yes.

 

People don’t actually do that.

 

This person did.

 

They’re my hero.

 

Hanzo hid a smile behind his mug. I wish they at least learned how to surf properly.

 

They didn’t?

 

No. The clan send someone merely a few hours behind and grabbed them. I don’t think they even finish the lesson.

 

The story doesn’t end there, does it.

 

The clan made an example of that Shimada, made sure they could never run off like that again.

 

What a bunch of – McCree cut himself off when he heard _Torbjörn_ ’s grandkids run past them somewhere below the cell tower. – poopy heads…

 

Hanzo nearly choked on his wine. And his boisterous laughter made it worth the at least two months of teasing McCree was going to get.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The story stuck with McCree. He felt that even though he might not remember it, that was something he wanted to do when he was young. Especially in Blackwatch. He thought about how miserable he was back then, and how great it would be to down three whiskeys and fly somewhere sunny for a solitude afternoon. But anyone with BAC over 0.05 would have been guaranteed to get detained before even thinking about leaving the compound.

 

McCree admired that Shimada, whoever they were. So when he ran into Genji one morning, he thought he ask.

 

Genji was silenced by the question. McCree thought maybe he didn’t know who the person was. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked displeased.  

 

“I don’t like that story,” Genji said.

 

McCree’s own eyebrow arched in surprise. He would’ve thought this kind of bravado was right up his alley.

 

“Hanzo didn’t tell you how that person got punished, did he?”

 

“Well, he said – ” McCree tried to remember what Hanzo said, but –

 

Genji turned away, so he could leave this topic after he ended it. “They cut off his legs.”

 


	81. I love you: In a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: it's a spoiler, but there's a trigger warning for this chapter, if you care, please see end note before reading

_The only solace I am taking right now is the knowledge that this confession will never make it to you._

_I am afraid this will be nothing but inanity. I cannot think properly, nor see properly, but Here Is My Confession: Jesse McCree, you are an awful man. A man full of sharp angles. You hold yourself at a distance from everyone so no one will notice your sharpness and potential for pain until one day I accidentally bump into you and we collided in the worst ways possible for two people to._

_Then we kept hurting each other, because I am atrocious as well (you didn’t put it as mildly), and it kept happening until one day, there was the jarring feeling that enveloped both of us, you noticed as well. The jar of feeling nothing wrong. We were in the kitchen, and it didn’t feel like two awful, violent men trying to work around one another anymore. It was the start of something softer, it could have been._

_You talked about your childhood home. I wish I could see the farm where you grew up. But you never told me where it was._

_But you started to say something else, too, did you not? On the same night? You were talking about your home, and you looked to see me looking at you, and you started saying something – but you never did. I knew what you wanted to say. I wanted to shout it at you, you told me it was alright to shout sometimes. But I didn’t. At the time, it was enough._

_That is why you are an awful man, Jesse, you made me be content with enough. We made each other thought we had time. We finally soften down enough to stop paining each other, and instead we exposed each other to the worst possible pain._

_Jesse McCree, you are an awful man. You are a good person. You have a lovely heart. You made this challenging life worth something again. I lo–_

 

“Hanzo?”

 

Hanzo looked up. Genji peered at him from the shadow of the building. His lights dimmed in the night. He was watching Hanzo’s face. “Are you burning something?”

 

The letter was a ball of scorched gibberish by Hanzo’s knees. In his hand was one of McCree’s cigarillo. Hanzo brought it to his lips and took a steady drag.

 

“Not anymore,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: character death


	82. First time for everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight nsfw, just a tiny bit

“You’ve never bottomed before?”

  
  
“Never.”

  
  
“Never??”

  
  
“Nev-how many times do you need me to say it?”

  
  
“It’s unbelievable. Not to be shallow, but have you  _seen_  your ass?”

  
  
Hanzo smirked and preened at the compliment. “There was this one time…”

  
  
“Yeah?”

  
  
“But I do not consider that as an experience, because my partner at the time cried after I said his technique was awful.”

  
  
“Oh my God.”

  
  
“Then I had to coddle him and we never got to it.”

  
  
“Oh my God, Hanzo,” McCree laughed, almost falling to his side. “I hope you don’t badmouth me in bed and make me cry.”

  
  
Hanzo stretched languidly, resting his cheek on his fist. “Let me see what you can do then.”

  
  
He would regret (not really) challenging McCree.

  
  
Hanzo’s body dropped bonelessly, head hung off the edge of the bed as he panted heavily and tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes.

  
  
McCree leaned down to graze his nose along Hanzo’s bobbing Adam’s apple. “Good?”

  
  
It was not good, it was more than just good, it was just all the right softness and roughness combined in a brutal way enough for Hanzo to seize up and die happily – in the end, Hanzo had no brain cell left to reply other than a weak and satisfied “uhnnnnnn”

 


	83. Homesick

He misses Japan, he misses Japan. He misses the trails there, trails that lead to shrines and small home owned restaurants that serve rice and pickled radishes and nothing else. He couldn’t stay in Japan after he left his family, but not a day past where his chest doesn’t ache from homesick.

 

It aches now, as McCree wraps his arms around Hanzo from behind. Hanzo grips him tightly, and he knows it’s not enough, and McCree knows it's not enough, that’s why he isn't saying anything.

 

Japan is too small compared to the vast red desert, too little place to hide precisely because it is too crowded. McCree doesn’t understand.

 

But he kisses Hanzo’s neck, and Hanzo knows it is bearable with McCree


End file.
